Willis (1999-2001)
Willis (1999-2001)
Still one of the most inventive bands that I’ve had the pleasure to play with. Joined the band around the time my brother died. I had the impression a couple of times that he was attending band practice with me. Kept Todd’s influence in mind as I entered into the technical adventures of Tom’s and Pat’s songs.
Melodies (Pat Baker)
Tom Pryor (guitars, vox)
Pat Baker (keys, vox)
Bryan Scyphers (drums)
Curt Rode (bass)
Missing
Missing
An evolution of the “stir fry,” a digital poetic form invented by Jim Andrews. Here, I layer into a single frame 3 paragraphs from an unpublished prose poem. Andrews offers a useful description and history of the form (with practice files to build your own!) on his website.
Built with HTML, CSS, and Javascript (using Andrews’s source files).
Conciliatory
Conciliatory
The dead don’t deserve our respect.
Shortly before the earth begins
Healing around them,
They stop returning our calls.
They won’t climb out of bed
To help move an armoire,
Gauge a sauce’s spice,
Hear us through our pain
Until morning.
They’re like bad parents, and we’re so forgiving.
What reason do we give them to change?
We raise buildings, dedicate books,
Quote advice that doesn’t apply,
And for what? To put their names in the air
Like the scent of lemon after dusting.
originally published in BorderSenses
Edinburgh Elegy
Edinburgh Elegy
His mother’s friends
Promised her they’d release
A film canister of his ashes
Near Arthur’s Seat,
Where I took his picture
Sitting at the top
On the brass marker that gives
The direction and distance
To places we’d been,
Or hoped to go.
Should I love one place more
Than Loch Lomond or Stranraer,
Now that he’s part
Of its pollen and dirt?
I don’t know;
I’m as new to this
As I was to the city
We climbed above
As it rained without conviction,
Thin clouds of mist
Folding in the firth.
Originally published in Migrants and Stowaways
Triste
Triste
Whatever drips from us,
Sometimes pours,
Blood, mucous, sweat,
Urine, semen, tears,
Whatever is waxy or wet,
Viscous or slick,
Mostly in sickness
But also in health
We just can’t contain ourselves.
There’s always something
Gathering, massing,
Welling up, looking for the closest
Causeway, pore, portal, duct—
Onomatopoeia
Onomatopoeia
Amicable
Is hard to say
For a reason.
Acceptance
Always ends with a hiss.
The longer you say trust
The more I’ll hear
Your uncertainty.
I can stay
In the middle of blame
For as long as my breath can hold it.