The sun is a predatory bird circling the pines
while I lie within the wreckage of the linen
The neighborhood is a sequence of fences
and the sound of the world ending behind the hedges
I am the technician of the pause and the lord of the unmade bed
We were the youth who thought the fire would never reach the edge of the yard
I watch the way you sleep with hair
like a winter thicket and eyes of jagged slate
You have a 40DD bust
and your breasts are heavy white anchors for my failing will
You are completely nude and your pussy is a wet dark mark upon the rumpled white
I see the labia part with the rhythm of the anxiety which is a cold lung in the chest
I want to move but the air is a thick soup of the unsaid and the unstarted
I am the architect of the delay and the priest of the frozen clock
[Chorus] Wake the heart and burn the bed
Tell me the things that the dead haven’t said
I am the engine that refuses to start
The heavy weight in the center of the heart
The sky is falling and the neighbors are gone
I am the shadow at the edge of the dawn
The community is a gathering of ghosts in the middle of the street
I am the hunger and the heat and the act
I see the dark points of your nipples turning to hard nickel in the chill of the room
I want to take you against the wall but the logic is a broken machine
Fuck the faith of the fathers and the talk of the long walk
I am the dog within the yard who has forgotten the purpose of the bark
The irony is a jagged tooth biting the tongue of the survivor
I am the apathy that has finally been fated
I am the end of the line and the king of the bone
Sitting forever on a heavy gold throne.
The White Hawk and the Heavy Sheet
The White Hawk and the Heavy Sheet