1. |
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Waterlogging, turning to mud, flooding the crypt full of vermin
Total collapse, turned to a grave, I watch from the outside, seething
Stomping it down, pissing on it, I hope they choke on the backfill
The parasites lay their eggs in your eyes before you even die
Flooding ratholes
I see their ghosts personified in the form of glowing lights
Following me early at dawn as I walk through the fields barefoot
Under my tongue and biting my neck, the scent of mold and rat fur
Nauseating pungent presence, a remnant of obstinate rank
I must flood these poltergeists from my presence
Drowning myself in the toilet to wash the ghosts from my mind
I wrote this in shit on the wall to explain what people find
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2. |
Blood and Bonemeal
05:02
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The intestines of the worms pulsate with life
Churning once vibrant fibers that turned to rot
The sun turns to grey (blood and bonemeal)
Soaking into clay (blood and bonemeal)
Bound to roots and soil (blood and bonemeal)
Only elements are loyal (blood and bonemeal)
The clouds that bring the rain drowning the dirt
Syphoning recycled scum in a cycle
Reeking - rank with resin
The smell stays in my nose, the musk within my clothes
Fleeting, I had a vision
the green of rot and death
the green of fresh new growth
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3. |
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Wilting on the ground, the leaves that grew from mud
Compost in the autumn night, caked in dirt and mud
Once a tiny seed the size of a spiders eye
Tumbling to a crack in the ground, now it towers high
Sticky in its growth like beads of amber sweat
A bright light from the east every morning to pay its debt
The fumes of the fungi creeping where its moist
The insects in the nighttime making noises with one voice
Making use of corpses…
Animals that I buried fresh this spring
The roadkill, an investment - an offering that I bring
Harvests by the moon, plumbing the depths of the mulch womb
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4. |
Harvesting The Hatchet
06:13
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As the humidity breaks open wide and spreads the night sky
To release its tide, in all its great expanses it looks to me
The smell within my nostrils has traveled the seas
It flushes the worms forward, they squirm for me in a dance
Writhing, shiny - the mud makes my tea
I cup it in my hands and gorge it down
I can taste the souls I’ve buried here on the grounds
As I drink it down I notice a bitter memory
I thought it composted -
it found me eventually
While I wait for it to turn my soul to ugly stew
I’ll think of you
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5. |
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It smells like a wet dog or is that just my breath?
My beard it smells of blood, my gas is reeking death
Clothes are stained with mud, eyes are bloodshot red
I know it’s nothing good to be an animal in my head
In my head I see a beast eating its own brains
We’re the same
The shadow that it casts is my frame
We’re the same
A swamp of swirling fumes that turns within my stomach
Like the halls to open rooms, the fluids flood and rummage
My organs are like tombs into which you’ll plummet
The limbs you’ll have to lose so I can eat within my budget
Disassembly, delicacy, the smell of meat, pickle the feet
A rotted pile of vegetative mush drips down a shelf lined with jars
Packed to the lids with meats of indeterminate origin
They say that I’ve changed, well that’s the point of my ways
They say that I’ve changed, well if true - who’s to blame?
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6. |
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To the back of the trees that border the perimeter of the property
It shines a light and searches far and wide
I’m convinced that it only looks for me
In my mind I’m never really alone
I’ve got a voice and a set of eyes scanning between the lines
It maps and measures zones
I see the marks, machines landing
The orbs, undeniable, in the night, taking flight
Covered in gloom, discreet black
I must admit it to myself, I thought that I was in control
The rattling of things on shelves…
Perfectly punctured lawn with holes…
The orbs - undeniable, the source inside is milked
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7. |
Grublust
05:49
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By the light of screens that flicker very bright
Pulsating and pale, packed in way too tight
A jar I’ve filled with larvae keeps me company at night
I try to talk to them but I never get it right
Chatter in my dreams about their little lives
And talk about the queen within their sacred hive
I wish that I could make one grow into my weight and height
I’d let it come out of the jar, take it for my wife
I fatten them with roadkill until succulent for my feast
No communication is the problem as I see
A lack of lingual tact, I’ve failed to take the lead
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