Vinhos
Watsonville, valley — the
sun is setting in a mysterious
orange flameball over the
flat green lettuce fields
interlined with brown dirt
rows & roads & rails — beyond
the milky haze of this
dusk is the sea, unseen, the
Pacific to the Land of the
Rising Sun — the grass is
like hay, full of ants
that go to sleep at sundown,
dry shrubs, dry cottonwoods,
weeds, tart spice ferns of
Spring are now fuel for
Autumn Seres, — little
weedflowers close their
blossoms as the dusk birdsongs
titter — a farm in the
dreaming vale below, white-
washed barn, flat reposant
chickencoops & toolsheds —
I hear the distant hiway
trucks — sitting on the
mat of earth on the westernmost
American hill facing
the unknown east all
pink now — Sweet dewy
breeze hints of sea —
The railroad cries the
roundroll — I sleep on
the ground under the
stars like an Indian,
baseball hat, brakeman’s
lantern & tucked in
Levis & workshoes &
jacket, arms folded to
the moon —
a cow mourns below —
adios — now the sun
is bloodred, sinks behind
the mighty mountain trees
— the distant sad hiway
of little soundless cars —
the Salad Bowl of the
World sinks to dark, all
you need is a plane to
spray mayonnaise & chopped
scallions — eat a whole
valley raw — the figs
trees are shitting on the
ground, Mexican Motorists
pick walnuts from the
ground, the bums have
left a Tokay empty
under the avocado tree —
ripe California
Jack Kerouac, Book of Sketches, 1952-57
- Mark Lanegan — The Winding Sheet
Saw God staring from the wall / I was alone and lost / Here to take me from this world / Still alone and lost. Night when the dogs from hell come out / Roam my house in chains of gold / The darkness dares my eyes to close / With the setting sun. Saw...
-
OCTOBER 1ST, 1987 DAY OFF Van Nuys, noon Home sweet home... just woke up. Flew in from Salt Lake last night... Robbin flew with us and Tom stayed then drove back home. The flight was smooth and the sky so gorgeous. Our pilot would tip the plane to the...
- Death Cab For Cutie — We Have The Facts And We're Voting Yes
We spread out and occupy the cracks in the urban streets / Idle now: I rearrange the furniture as you sleep, as you sleep, as you sleep. It's so appropriate: the way we amplify the sound, / and then the neighbours drop by and ask us to turn it down...
- The Golden Palominos — Dead Inside
I feel the motion of the car before I open my eyes. The air is blue-black, brown-black, black-black. Smell of gas, oil, animals. I'm in the trunk. My wrists and ankles tied. Tape over my mouth, it almost covers my nose, but I can breathe barely. I...
- A Girl
> Dafne e Apolo «The tree has entered my hands, / The sap has ascended my arms, / The tree has grown in my breast — / Downward, / The branches grow out of me, like arms. Tree you are, / Moss you are, / You are violets with wind above them. / A child...
Vinhos
SKETCH . . . .
Watsonville, valley — the
sun is setting in a mysterious
orange flameball over the
flat green lettuce fields
interlined with brown dirt
rows & roads & rails — beyond
the milky haze of this
dusk is the sea, unseen, the
Pacific to the Land of the
Rising Sun — the grass is
like hay, full of ants
that go to sleep at sundown,
dry shrubs, dry cottonwoods,
weeds, tart spice ferns of
Spring are now fuel for
Autumn Seres, — little
weedflowers close their
blossoms as the dusk birdsongs
titter — a farm in the
dreaming vale below, white-
washed barn, flat reposant
chickencoops & toolsheds —
I hear the distant hiway
trucks — sitting on the
mat of earth on the westernmost
American hill facing
the unknown east all
pink now — Sweet dewy
breeze hints of sea —
The railroad cries the
roundroll — I sleep on
the ground under the
stars like an Indian,
baseball hat, brakeman’s
lantern & tucked in
Levis & workshoes &
jacket, arms folded to
the moon —
a cow mourns below —
adios — now the sun
is bloodred, sinks behind
the mighty mountain trees
— the distant sad hiway
of little soundless cars —
the Salad Bowl of the
World sinks to dark, all
you need is a plane to
spray mayonnaise & chopped
scallions — eat a whole
valley raw — the figs
trees are shitting on the
ground, Mexican Motorists
pick walnuts from the
ground, the bums have
left a Tokay empty
under the avocado tree —
ripe California
Jack Kerouac, Book of Sketches, 1952-57
loading...
- Mark Lanegan — The Winding Sheet
Saw God staring from the wall / I was alone and lost / Here to take me from this world / Still alone and lost. Night when the dogs from hell come out / Roam my house in chains of gold / The darkness dares my eyes to close / With the setting sun. Saw...
-
OCTOBER 1ST, 1987 DAY OFF Van Nuys, noon Home sweet home... just woke up. Flew in from Salt Lake last night... Robbin flew with us and Tom stayed then drove back home. The flight was smooth and the sky so gorgeous. Our pilot would tip the plane to the...
- Death Cab For Cutie — We Have The Facts And We're Voting Yes
We spread out and occupy the cracks in the urban streets / Idle now: I rearrange the furniture as you sleep, as you sleep, as you sleep. It's so appropriate: the way we amplify the sound, / and then the neighbours drop by and ask us to turn it down...
- The Golden Palominos — Dead Inside
I feel the motion of the car before I open my eyes. The air is blue-black, brown-black, black-black. Smell of gas, oil, animals. I'm in the trunk. My wrists and ankles tied. Tape over my mouth, it almost covers my nose, but I can breathe barely. I...
- A Girl
> Dafne e Apolo «The tree has entered my hands, / The sap has ascended my arms, / The tree has grown in my breast — / Downward, / The branches grow out of me, like arms. Tree you are, / Moss you are, / You are violets with wind above them. / A child...