1. |
||||
I'll miss you
until I love myself too
|
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2. |
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The boy is looking for his voice
in a drop of water
listening and looking for his voice
the king of the crickets has it
I don't want it to talk with
I'm gonna turn it to a ring
that my silence can wear
on its little finger
|
||||
3. |
||||
Of all the sounds dispatched abroad
there's not a charge to me
like that old measure in the boughs
that phraseless melody the wind makes
moving like a hand whose fingers comb the sky
then trickle down with tufts of tune
permitted Gods, and me
|
||||
4. |
||||
My friends, I've lost the way to my mouth
pour it in, and don't say when
you can punish me when I'm sober
'cause I'll never be sober again
. . .
Talk double-talk with doubters
and their seeing double ends
talk bird-language with the saints
talk mystery with friends
|
||||
5. |
||||
Weather eyes
I only drink at night
dark wine keeps me from your sight
and I only drink at night . . .
|
||||
6. |
||||
When you listen with your littlest and newest ears
then among the corn the fairies come
with a blinkofeneya, winkofaneye, blinkofaneye
sing pla-diddy
soft as a Nebraska baby's thumb. . .
|
||||
7. |
WHEELS OF EMERALD
04:22
|
|||
Sun was chilly at birth
Fiery
|
||||
8. |
||||
I want to go up on the walls of the town
to see the heart opened with water's dark knife
to go far down to the trembling well
to see one wounded by water
|
Tom Ross Colorado Springs, Colorado
Music, art, poetry spoken here!
As E Dickinson says:
Nature is what we know
but have no art to say
so impotent our wisdom is
to her simplicity
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