1. |
and then he dived in
05:59
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And Then He Dived In
And then he dived in, naked out of necessity.
Spirals hovered in his wake, and anthems
were sung spontaneously. We sang until
our pores were open by the same chill pond
that enveloped him. He knew and we knew
the water was song. The songs were the water
and the path to the water. Proximity is everything.
Suddenly one among us arose, walked
straight to the water, and dived. We never
saw him again/alive. Now a new mimicry
skirts our lives, and trims our ancient need.
Now we study in the field, incessantly.
We disperse in patterns themselves quite beautiful,
striations on the body of time.
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2. |
i did it for you
11:24
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I Did It For You
I did it for you, and committed myself
to the institution, a dove who coos
in his ample pen, eyeing the cocks
and the hens. I did it for you. What
unintended insults you flung, what scents
and innuendoes. Scoops of silt
by the cavernous river, clover
stamped in the mud. Until then
a whole system of time went unnoticed,
but in those moments together,
we knew. Among little unravellings,
poor reproductions, or signs stenciled
on theater exits, we're aligned on an axis
of traces, left gaping along the spoors.
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3. |
damascus
06:38
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Damascus
Under these exact circumstances—mist,
and light penetrating lowering clouds—
the wet asphalt of a battered highway
turns to silver before me. And then white,
as if opposites were only degrees of light,
atmospheric merely. At any moment,
the world I've constructed might vanish,
and a blinding road, to Damascus, or
to precisely nowhere, might suggest
my journey. I proceed thus blindly. I go
with no expectation. The slow, groping,
empty-eyed pilgrim grasps nothing
but the moment at hand.
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4. |
night listening
11:25
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Night Listening
All through the course of a summer night,
from my house on a slope in a western city,
I listen. Trains couple in the freight yards,
airplanes drone above. Traffic never ceases.
Sprinklers hiss, greening minuscule lawns.
And there's a certain undercurrent, a mix
of crickets, air conditioning, breezes,
night shifts at factories, commercial bakers
mixing their ingredients, lovers exhaling,
birds rustling slightly on their perches,
a page or two turned in midnight books,
sheets falling to the floor, and the blood
near my ear canals circulating home.
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5. |
birdshit buddhas
04:37
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Birdshit Buddhas
No exotic buddhas,
plundered or purchased from Asia.
No historic buddhas, slick
from nudging the ages.
Only cheap souvenir buddhas
peeking out from cluttered shelves.
Only concrete garden buddhas--
dusty buddhas, mossy buddhas,
birdshit buddhas, gaudy buddhas.
O glorious plastic buddhas,
o glorious plastic buddhas,
oozed from petroleum swamps.
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6. |
tribe
06:32
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7. |
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The Night He Defies
Night occurs without fanfare,
just drapes itself on the horizon,
swiftly, evenly. Any sparks,
from kindling fires, or
from humans scraping together,
are instantly dampened.
The moon inquires only haltingly.
The stars are weak and sporadic.
Buildings and hillsides
become the night, entering its density.
Still, a single window is lit,
there in an alcove amidst branches
and wires. Someone in his cell
is toiling, bowing
to the night he defies.
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John R. Campbell Corvallis, Oregon
John R. Campbell creates soundscapes via jazz, experimental, contemplative, spoken word, & alt roots textures. He's worked
with
Trio Bravo triobravo.bandcamp.com
Blind Lions blindlions.bandcamp.com
Woodman/ Kellam/ Campbell woodmankellamcampbell.bandcamp.com
Avant Garage
avantgarage.bandcamp.com
& others. His blues persona, Green Man Blues, can be found at greenmanblues.bandcamp.com
... more
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