Flying Fishing

traipsed over faultlines
savage ignorance
ignored stains on
rainy days
not every droplet
contains
a miracle
or will live again
not every thread
is sewn
into memory
pushed down into
agendas like
a falling Wallenda
on the circus floor
everyone cries and stare
but one by one
they go home
the corpse and the family
are left alone
as the pipe organ plays

Moz Rant 2013

So after canceling his only north american tour, of which only a handful of dates were actually played, he releases a live document of the show he played in Hollywood High as a live film, even going so far as to release the film in theaters. Odd considering he has also just canceled his south american tour. Now whoever is managing him is running contests to get people to come out to the theaters to watch this thing and the tactics just scream "This guy is not being properly managed anymore." So they load up a fake contest with a few paltry items even the most casual of fans will have bought years ago. One copy of the film on DVD, one copy of his first solo album, not even the remastered version-the same shrink wrapped original that has been sitting in the vaults over at Sire for the last 25 years. I feel like since he lost his management deal with Merck about 5 years ago his 'career' has steadily slid from promising to wandering. I have always noted that when he has proper management you can tell. Albums are released when released on time, not delayed. Tours are played with little to no cancelations and appearances are shown up for, not cancelled at the last minute. How many times can one man get food poisoning before he just hires a personally chef to cook for him? Ironic that this recent tour was supposed to be his last-its been one hell of a rickety ride into the great good night.  He speaks of retiring-but to what I don't know. Clearly he has no interest in doing anything else and no skill in anything outside writing and performing. He's not about to open a greasy caffe somewhere in Owlsley or Farnum or somewhere equally mundane and far away from the maddening crowd. So from here to who knows where, with ever diminishing returns on interest and quality. Ho hum....

Black Rabbits Wave From Over The Ocean

all your memories become
crumbs for the birds
flakes for the paint
erasers for pain
crimes to be
reminded of
after clocks have run down
into sand

each loop repeats
time, love, emptiness
the phone is silent
in the brittle fade of lost language
the shadows lope and fade
like new lovers
with old feelings
interesting
with distance
the little things that fall
into cracks
with time
that split apart even a great tree
a natural failure
neither fable nor forgotten dreams
pick over corpses
lay down over fault lines
the sun burns right through
blue eyes to brown eyes
like the young holding a gun
but each weapon is traded for a cane and
eventually, illumination
you don't need to wonder why
each dawn comes announced by paler colors
in its own way we become
wreckage
scrape by through storms and age
to feel until
there are no more feelings
left to feel
or to get back up
somehow and carry what you have
or grow a pair of wings
god forbid we learn to fly
together.