Poetry page :o

Maybe later I will have a different organizational structure
≡=≡=≡
(i'll try to have some kind of navigation tree option that routes to the different media [video, pencil and paper, poetry, etc.])

*this page looks kind of bad rn, even by web 1.0 standards. i'm vaguely brainstorming a way to retain the data embeded in the titles while also having it navigable AND readable*

||| salvage poetry project |||

one day this will be a blurb explaining what the salvage poetry project is, e.g., stating methodology and motivation and other motivating factors... not today though

"mitchell - 1:3 = 3;4,1,2"

green ideologies decline the task into us
no longer subversive delineated
in a time of fiction and phenomena
value remains, cultivated, conscious;

sustained and lost
after after after
their authors that wrote before

Page three of the source text the poem draws from [link to image]

"special envoy - 1:16 = 2;3,2"

and the door there's straight
straight, loose, and open,
tore away, rushed on, flinging into

drowned darkness and misapprehension;
up the soaring tilt, the room slid under,
all over, the same illusion of pandemonium

Page sixteen of the source text the poem draws from [link to image]

"juza - 5:10,9,3,7,1 = 5;5,1,1,3,2 | 6;1,7,3,1,7,4 | 3;5,1,5 | 1;2 | 1;8"

i haven't got around to transferring it to this site yet...

Page ten of the source text the poem draws from [link to image]
Page nine of the source text the poem draws from [link to image]
Page three of the source text which the poem draws from [link to image]
Page seven of the source text which the poem draws from [link to image]
Page one of the source text which the poem draws from [link to image]

"Haruo - 27:20,16,11,3,19,21,21,23,13,4,19,1,1,20,16,5,12,23,4,17,3,10,12,10,10,4,12 = 2;2,8 | 1;7 | 3;1,6,5 | 1;1 | 2;1,4 | 1;2 | 1;1 | 2;2,2 | 4;6,3,4,6 | 2;3,1 | 3;3,1,1 | 0;0 | 0;0 | 6;7,3,2,4,1,6 | 7;4,3,3,1,6,3,7 | 2;1,4 | 3;1,3,3 | 1;2 | 3;1,4,2 | 2;2,1 | 1;4 | 1;1 | 4;1,2,2,4 | 2;2,3 | 1;1 | 3;4,4,2 | 3;4,4,5"

i haven't got around to transferring it to this site yet...

"Astromania - 10:15,3,16,7,9,15,6,4,11,15 = 2;5,1 | 2;3,4 | 5;2,3,3,1,2 | 3;1,4,2 | 8;4,2,2,5,2,3,1,3 | 3;8,8,2 | 2;1,1 | 5;6,3,5,6,1 | 1;3 | 6;1,6,8,5,1,7"

Glittering started
We spread with strange
Us two

Hand shadow
Beneath popped into
Into my mind

Borrowed; filled
Just passion
Longing for

Vivid memory
Stills
Seems

Punctuated, tiny
Like like like
Round corner
Spilling hill
Underneath

Future city

Press machine

Up! Out! Back!
Look look look
Climb!

Spilling summit
Silver silhouette
And Green,
Very Green

Blue abandon
Named moon world

Red mark
Seen in scene
Like like like

Exact night lover
With distant kiss for sky
Our nostalgiac universe

Face to face
Hand to draw
Right to work

Full enough for
Well spelling letters
To hang on

And tower
Sweet and delicate
As if for Nuremberg
Needless
Rare

Glass earth
Hanging with
Green
Hanging
Shooting
A poster of a tire

Thought out
Like rare paper box
Like delicate bulbs

Soap left
Soap has left
Facing Fascination

Taking no
Dry holes
Flock to blue

Fascination
Too held
Has no profile

Straight like mirror
Like lost thought
Like silent doll
Part wonder
Part cross

Part lost to
Production jerk Otto
Really

Fill night with silver
Glass package
Of paper smoke

Time before Geneva
Dream time
Together

Together we time

Tradition
Nature
Something

Twice that
That fleshing plot

The moon
Doesn't have tradition
But

Narrative and
Agenda

Decorative and
Dressed in light
Gaslight like glitter

Lights like
Paper road shadow
Like carton hand like
Soon palace

Factory light
Below
Behind
Buzzing
Humming like brick
Light towering
Lining
Building
Manors
Leaking

Like mirror reflection
Of mechanical thought
Lonely and lost

Along
Over
Two accompanying two
Stardust
Sidewalk

Shadow...
Soon the road appeard
Unexpectedly

Indifferently
Just wonder

"Yiu - 19:6,8,11,5,19,8,20,2,9,19,9,8,8,19,20,20,3,15,19 = 3;2,4,1 | 1;1 | 1; 4 | 2;1,2 | 2;3,2 | 2;2,2 | 1;2 | 1;1 | 4;4,7,8,3 | 3;4,2,2 | 5;1,1,1,1,2 | 2;2,2 | 1;1 | 1;2 | 3;1,3,4 | 2;3,1 | 3;1,2,1 | 2;1,1 | 3;1,4,1"

Fiction
That futurological detour
What will fiction create?

Born under imagination
The received generation
Formed decade critics

Fiction
That cinematic springboard
Shared imaginings purpose

Of of of
Manifesto children
Fashionable and impossible
Moreover
Movement pointed to stagnation

Unreal, nonsensical, and
The themes of worlds
And worlds can be

Fiction
Preserving
Utopia in the dream
Schemes to deal with time

Obscure compelled
Anonymous city
To untimely appreciation

Fiction is a hole
In the story lacking
Obsession--
Science-fiction

On paper

On paper reserved
By rights based
On ink

Sharp pointed away from
Fiction dawned away from
Realism caused world decline
Science fiction

Lack plants and aliens
Science fiction, the muting genre
Technological and estranged voice

Three-dimentionsal means mobility
Ground means machines
Space means the spiraled lower

Collapse
Left in cold hard
Create extend reached upward

Fiction is a privelege
Broadcasts the radio
Broadcasts new science

Life below ground
Detached
Ground continues
Below ground

Centuries from time
Story places a frame
The frame is Edgar Allen

Time seeds form
Fiction texts the future
Literary parody of time

Flawed wonderland
Fiction dimensions
Women in to estrangement

Call it human!

Call it society!

Call it that

Lowest of the
Lowest of the
Lowest of the

Ground world
A spiral of death
World, inevitably
The attempt to
Climb underground

Figure on ink

Ink on paper

Map map map

Fiction predates language
Amorphous
Lacking time

Future envisions snow
Blossom
A dream of sun

Image returning transcendental
Indebted
Changed

A new dawn
West of utopia
Fiction

Term for returning home
See death like Spring
Point to it

A novel future
Dream among dream
Sphere:global:record

Writing is escape
No worse than
Reality
Both are terrible

A new experiment will
Structure chaos
Will use order

Classical and canonical
Character recognized in
The new thrust of

Fiction flattening
Works by
Determining

Which play was popular
And where it began
Landscape written as play

Fact holds form
However silently
However carefully
This is the point

Time after time
Beginning after begining
Edgar Allen deduced the place

"Clear cannot point to popular"
He wrote
"The reader is the expression"

In the meantime, even though I don't have all the salvage poetry proejct poems hosted natively here yet, i'll still leave the links to the videos that correspond with the written portion here:

==[Older poems]==

As part of this website project, I wanted it to be a place to centrally have most of my art that I've been doing since getting back into it, so below is a largely non-ordered archive of the poems I wrote prior to starting the salvage poetry project I'm still undertaking.

If I get time in the future, I would like explain some of these, as there are within this sea of text some number of poems connected to each other in various ways. For example (at what's currently near the bottom of the page) there's the poems from my encounter with the books Cat's Cradle and station eleven. While the methodology for these is technically divergent from what I'm doing with the Salvage Poetry project, there's a concerted genealogy connecting the two. Again, if I find time in the future I'd like to speak more to this.

“This house (1)”

This house has an odor, a stench, some kind of putrid platitude that coats its walls.
Its pallid frames form a palindrome the color of carcassed human bones,
And beneath the sheets there’s a telltale cry, the thumping of a heart
Where waspy shouts of furnaces were carried from the start.

“This house (2)”

This house has a song that it sings with the sound of bricks and wind.
Innocence hangs fetidly, sunken with its chords.
A paunchy air, placidity, is plowed by choruses wrung sore.
Like industrial smog with bated breath,
The notes mill about and spill onto the floor.
And hang on chandeliers and windowsills and filter through dead foam.
This is the loneliest song that’s never been heard, and I have to call it “home.”

“Autosarcophagy”

I want a dog to eat my face
I want to break my body clean in half
I want to find the zipper on my spine and pull it to my calf
I want to tear out both my eyes and finally let them cry
I want to feel what it is to actually want to die
I want to rip up my nerves like wiring taped to a floor
I want to smash my brow into every bathroom door
I want to peel off my skin and pile it in a safe
I want to take a grater and chafe, chafe, chafe, chafe, chafe
I want to dig into my stomach and split it like it’s glue
I want to be able to look into a mirror and say “I want you”
I want to pry out my receptors, for pain and self-conception
I want to draw from Orpheus a visual reception
I want to stop self-hating
I wish I wanted to exist
But because there are no dogs around, I’ll have to use my fist

“i. e.”

Interrogate anthropocene--
Elucidate indifference--
Inebriate autocratic--
Emaciate imperialist--
Inundate ecumenical--
Eviscerate exploitational--
Instantiate iconoclastic--
That is: E. X. P. L. O. D. E.

“i woke up”

I once dreamt
That someone loved me.

“Squirrel (1)”

One gusty day she came to me.
A tiny squirl, a big oak tree.
[There] she pressed against the oak, and
I could see her grimace and choke.
Embraced in a fusion of limbs,
Pinned by nature’s torrent of winds,
[Here she was,] looking for life
Amidst a storm of wind and strife.
[And yet,] persevering despite
(The haunting gale and the not quite
Visible wind). She made it in
The end, despite a blustery din.
A tiny squirrel, a big oak tree.
And I saw her steal a glance at me.

“How does a snake solve a maze?”

How does a snake solve a maze?
Does it wrap itself around?
What if it’s long or paper thin,
Does it fold into a crown?
Would it twist around the corners,
Or climb above the walls?
Does it slither or does it slink?
Or does it go at all?
How does a snake know where the entrance is?
How does it know if it gets lost?
Do snakes use maps as vestiges
Of the pathways that they’ve crossed?
Do snakes get bored and take little naps?
Do they stop for brunch or tea?
When snakes get really lonely,
Do they try to chat with bees?
Do snakes know where they’re going?
Do they ever forget where they'v been?
Do snakes make plans? Do they improvise?
Do they need often to count past ten?
Do snakes like pretty pictures?
Can you put them in a trance?
If you taught them all the steps,
Could you ask a snake to dance?
When asking silly questions,
It’s easy to get lost,
//But as long as you keep going,
You’ll make it out before the frost.
Unless you are a snake,// and then maybe then—
Oh… but I don’t know…
If I ever see such a fellow,
I’ll ask her how it goes.
“How does a snake solve a maze?”
I wonder if she knows.

“My grandfather”

My grandfather was so afraid of death
That he scarcely moved an inch.
He sat there every morning,
With his laptop open wide.
And practice crawling slowly,
Crawling deep inside.
He cut out chunks of sinews,
Clusters of neurons,
And scraps of vein,
And satcheled them quite assiduously
Into computronic grain.
He bit off what he could chew,
And stored it there inside.
Birthdays, and pictures, and memories
Of grandchildren going down slides
He thought he was already dead,
And yet he feared it all the same.
So he practiced yielding and giving up
Whatever he couldn’t afford to tame.
He hid for hours at that machine,
Trying to make things right.
He built strong walls and fortresses
To seal himself in tight.

And one day I will wake up
And I will learn he is not alive
And I wonder then if I will find him still
Stuffing ever fuller that machinated hide.

“Rose”

Against the raking tides I squirm;
To be like her is all I yearn.
That [woman] form that comes to pass
From salty pine and clothy death.
Her sigil sears the leather hide,
As parchment and leaflets are likewise dyed,
For she is the blood and she is the body
And she is the culler of the root of tawdry.

It is the hanging question of perpetuity
That bends backward to futurity:
Is she daggered or is she fanged?
The splintered cobweb, the fate that hangs
In a balance and [] overpass,
The morose key of cloistered ink bath.
And between her tendrils, a perfect circle
That cordons off from all that hurtles.
And up above so as below
They speak about her among the crows.

She doesn’t want, she simply is,
To breathe, to suffer, away from his
Fingers and into frothy form
And flower and bloom from figures forlorn.
She is perfection, she is lack,
I live within her cul de sac.
To want to be to want to know
Where it is I ought to go.

“nature?”

I didn’t know I was haunted until
You taught me how to see.
I didn’t know I was haunted until
The mirror caught a glimpse of me.

“untitled”

When you really ask them
What they want, they
Will Say, "No More words.
No more language."

“re:session”

I went back when I heard the news.
I forgot what sadness sounds like,
Used to chopped onions.

“haiku 1”

You pull the paper
It breaks in constitution
Tears of deaded trees

“haiku 2”

Frogs sing when it rains
I wonder how it sounded
When they built that boat

“And so”

And so we danced until our legs were sore
And so we asked if we could dance some more
And so we stayed out till the crack of dawn
And so we agreed together that it was fun
And so we promised we would meet again
And so we

“untitled 2”

Mirrors don’t break unless you punch them
Of this, I wish it weren’t true
I wish all the mirrors around me
Would simply hide their magnifications away from view

“Duty to serve”

Called upon by pixies
To practice, to say,
“Eureka! I’ve done it,
It has to be this way!”
The flow of nature, the path of God,
The shuffling hunger of the fray;
The call that beckons trees,
The letters on a grave.
I wrote it down real quickly
And in writing was hunger staved.
The world has never made more sense.
Oh, how happy I am today.

“What’s he doing?”

I just saw a dog on roller skates,
I wonder what he’s gonna do.
Oh, and look, he just took a piece of gum—
And wow! He got a vaccine for the flu??
Dang! Now he’s dancing to a tango.
What!? Now he’s claiming to be crew?
“But, wait, he faked that task!”
“I saw him do it!” “Yeah me too”
Yet somehow I’m the one ejected,
I knew it was too good to be true…
And here he comes on his skateboard
Just what can’t this doggy do?

“Fib 1”

Trounced.
Flounced.
Denounced.
Forced about,
Made to feel ashamed.
Paraded around whilst enchained.
Since stolen treasure gets silently stolen away.
[Victory reflected through funhouse mirrors to stain every banner as they get raised.] *there’s something here but as written it’s right rubbish, innit?
They said the taste was sour, but I’d never thought it’d be this bad: [where tears cry out for sustenance outwetting even the birthplace of Sad.]

“Nonet 1 (h:p)”

Harbingers herald with hymnal hum
Pounding out prognostications.
Hark them, heed them, hear their call
Praise be plenty pious.
Whose haunt hast hither
Placed plentiful
Heaps herein?
Ply me:
‘Hest.

“Triolet 1”

To wonder is to wander
Beyond perilous gate.
To stay inside, to squander.
To wonder is to wander,
To approach of the point of yonder
To find yourself a bursting pate.
To wonder is to wander
Beyond the perilous gate.

“Power Outage (1)”

And suddenly the house was rattling.
And suddenly it was dark.
For a wind that could blister trees
Has got to be real sharp.

“untitled 1”
I love my mother
And yet.
I can’t help but see
All the things she’s imagined’re wrong with me

“I live in the future”

I am afraid. Because I can
Imagine tomorrow. And all that spans
Across the day. And among the week.
Yet it is with troubled voice that I here speak
About the specters that dance within
The haunted windows on shuttered hinge
That creak in flavors of roy g biv
And speak in tongues of “should I live?”

I’m afraid because I can
Think about a better plan
For treating wounds and curing sick.
Finding treasures and pathways quick
-ly crumble and choke me out
Leaving hoarsed voice yet needing shout
About what it is that is to come,
What it is that need be done
Yet here I hang, ‘tis once again,
Swallowed whole, inside doldrum.

“Misc. 1”

The estranged outbacker e
lopes
spasm.
the sight was more horrible than the conference

“Misc. 2”

circumstances call for creation myths
children: living on the margins of society
he runs away from the nun.
asunder coffins crumble

“time when waiting”

When you’re waiting
Every car that passes
Could be the one.
Crisis of futurity

“the myth of athena”

Sometimes I will stumble out whole sentences
Headaches held up in hardboiled eggs
There was too much pain and so it was already done
The myth of Athena

“the myth of the good apple”

A surplus of rot in the storage shed looks like a crisis
Unless the argonauts can grab the golden wool
This is the story most spoken
Faith in big (enough) numbers
The myth of the good apple

“the myth of orpheus eurydice and medusa”

I wonder how it would be
If a man and woman together were three
If one set of eyes couldn’t see
While the other pair couldn’t be seen
Life around mirrors isn’t carefree
The myth of Orpheus Eurydice and Medusa

“And yet”

And yet I did wake up to face the sun,
Despite how scared I was last night.
And yet I also remember,
Despite how much I tried to forget.
Fear and serenity.

“sestina”

In frothy foam and fleeting shuffle,
The tides behind did outwards shift.
They cast deeply soft pirouettes of salt
Stacking still seashells in piles of two.
Before swirling beneath our surfaced site
And returning backwards to the sun.

Within those timid waves was a mirrored sun
Whose smile turned frown as light rays shuffled
Along the sea breeze. A silent site
Of whispering where proclivities would shift
If only given stead the eyes of one or two,
Gazing until hugged with salt.

Now there comes a mewling cry from the tiny limbs of salt,
Trickling down in deltas. Our lachrymal young son
Speaks in tributaries of sadness too.
And the shores, like dealers, shuffle,
From the coasts of known to the cliffs carved of schist,
Slipping steeply up the sheerest hills and far beyond our sight.

[[To the enshadowed labor of many, must we serenity cite
As to why our seaweed snacks shrug off the sight of silt.
They slave away, the midnight shift,
Pushed off again by rest. {Unknown to sun.}
The origins of artifice have into Natural been shuffled.
Misplacing what it is we go home to.]] on one hand, this stanza is kind of very out of place, but im not convinced that that is /necessarily/ the case. Im not saying that I have accomplished it, but I think there’s something of a migration pattern in the structure of this poem (one that passes through this issue in its themes). But im not sure that this is read to anyone else but me :thinking:

Cyclical negation speaks with one, the voice of two,
Echoing the colors of sourness and bouncing off of sight
Until regret regurgitates and purpose wayward shuffles
Into the forested deck of fate. What patterns have we solved?
The transformations of age? The prodigal born son?
When purpose skitters on surface tension, we shift.

Up there in the cosmos, upside downward shifts.
Nature’s permanent revolution bleeds with human beings too.
A soft crunch below. A puddle smiles with the sun.
How did we ever invent loneliness when there exists such a site?
A taste of rocky crystal, a mouth that’s kissed by salt.
Everything will fall apart one day. The seaside shuffle(s).

The ocean holds the sun and watches it shift.
Seashells and sand shuffle, exchanging one for two.
It was always a reflective site, the birthplace of salt.

“villanelle”

I'm searching for a friend
It's something to pass the day
A beginning built into the end

After fifteen dollars I spend
I wander around the buffet
I'm searching for a friend

The injury of hunger needs amend
I come back to an extra tray
A beginning built into the end

I wonder if it was the letter I penned
Maybe it didn't my inner wants convey
I'm searching for a friend

Practice makes it easy to pretend
Smile and ask about their day
A beginning built into the end

Finally, I begin to comprehend
Where my life first went astray
I'm searching for a friend
A beginning built into the end

“untitled alphabetic 1”

Dangerously, we hunt quails
Movie rot quiz

“untitled alphabetic 2”

Loom bedside-like:
A quartz clock quest
.gif .wav

“cat’s cradle; M cegb; F ad; G bd”

Cult beauty—a cold fact, or
Eyes are lover’s like oysters.
Tell the young today, “you are spoken.”
Female represent[s] form.

To which: from a letter
Outside my father’s New York.

A fresh daisy. A lousy week. I don’t sleep.
I admire. Many times I really admire (hurt)

“cat’s cradle 2; I bcd; D abc; E adcgh”

And—and—and—the atom bomb gurgled.
Mother shook her head that day,
“he used to [be] an eight-year-old”

It is an amoeba.
Sing to his fifty-third
Machine—same people; so dark together.

God screamed when she saw worm sailboats,
I mean, what Earth, I mean, what Earth.
4 of a —
This warning:
How unable. How anyone. To understand

“cat’s cradle 3; C adbcef; B cdhe; A abgj”

I am now
NiCE—very nice,
But teach anyone the unknown
Of books
No. Somebody else’s tangled life
Is called humanity. Will without instrument

This plan compelled a second place
Listen:
The first day was done.
250,000 wives of man

The world
Called me they.
Be factual
I was a book.

“cat’s cradle 4; H; J; K; L”

Nothing says easy like /s/
A[n] almost member.
Thus, my early entry into
Said understand[ing]

Um
The building had been
Um
Had been building
The last frontier of twenty-eight years.

I scared the poor people enough..
Think and you will be better
To know. And ignorant to common sense

Pain him again
Pain his eyes closed
But not for it to
Go strangling. The words cried. He cried.
In grotesque face /d/
That loudly wasn’t dead

“the mountain birds”
Years fly and promise age
Confident; heads with gray ease
Thousands softly; our turn

“station eleven; (3)-225”

Tomorrow, a forgotten sore throat;
Elevators empty his gaze and
Leave. Leave no way
Out, a book on flight.

“station eleven; (3)-23”

Pushing was ... you ... are
Disconnected meat and felt-paper tape
Glancing on autopilot at the store television
With insomnia eye (making)
Over his “where you are” card
You are the news
Be
Serious
About wherever
You look in time
And exit already

“station eleven; (3)-196”

Winter remember[s] hot light,
Used space,
And this (not just cold)
Light inside.

“station eleven; (3)-84”

Moving silent like undersea eyes to a seahorse,
She sees a voice call,
“Eight.
People”
Around eleven winds: a nemesis
Trying to view a bad practice
An(d) entire day
Of talked about downtime
And “you do you.”
A not sure tone, she doesn’t time why.

“station eleven; (3)-123”

Leave the sorry girl
Leave why
The prophet said
“You [are]”
Choice the going now
Her arms, standing by her eyes, rubbing
More
Gas
In the station
The clean girl
Eleanor
You are Eleanor
Twelve
Why twelve-year-old?
God was told he was the Earth
Like all dreams said
“If always was a thought in motion,
The direction
—” Dead.
Sorry.
You were
The girl, her head
Told you.             You.
She                   she.
Did know “AND”       “AND.”

“station eleven; 17”

A pocket of time vibrated out in the snow
Hours of years they rarely saw
A peculiar intensity
Tonight
Just three temporary years
Of “okay
the day had been”
A patient exhaustion with symptoms
The first friends

“station eleven; 202”

An invisible dream of dentists,
Where eyes swayed in invented breeze
/h/ And teeth drifted up
to galaxies of gray planets
like books
like thinking
a universe [of] she
you
we—
spinning anyway, the live world
think[s] it’s beautiful
but it isn’t night

“station eleven; 208”

Existence stopped trying and
Thought-said to her mirror you look like a stranger
Covered in familiarity and dark clear beauty
She liked herself but felt outside
Of her head that parasite
That forgot her name

“station eleven; 102”

Take a
Name
Chaudhary
You for me
Here
Again
A so so cigarette
Here
Always
Time
Three three three maybe thirty
Why’s
Because
Eyes
Hear me too
No you
Gossip
Gossip pays
For what
Beauty
Like you
I
She tears
He fits (basic)

“Butchers and erosion”

[White noise kind of drown me out,,,]

I'm aiming at veracity
I'm trying to speak the,,
truth

And of course there's obfuscation
And of course there's obfuscation
And of course there's obfuscation
When I'm trying to speak my,,
truth

It's like the words just fall a,,
way

Tired of passive aggressive
Tired of feigning interest
Tired of sarcasm
Tired of the,,
truth

I inherit
This language
It says it speaks
It says it speaks the,,
truth

But when I stop and stare that way,
It just all begins to sway
It says, "I'm trying to find the,,
truth"

Truth and imperfection
Truth and imperfection
Truth and imperfection
Truth and the,,
truth

Signifiers signifying
Signifiers signifying
They say that they're signifying
I'm waiting for a,,
sign

Speaking that language
Speaking a language that's
Trying to speak about,,
me

Grammar rules try to choke me out
Emails and no complaining
It's all formal and inhumanely
It's all formal and it's,,
dumb

And now I try to learn to speak
While I practice biting
My own,,
tongue

If my words betray me,
What have I become
When my words betrayed me,
What did I be,,
come

Was it betrayal or maybe something--
Was I butcher or maybe something--

And so my body e,,
rodes

I am erosion,
I act out erosion,
As I butcher this world
As I butcher these,,
words

Irregardlessly
Importune to me
Make me,,
numb

I try to cry out
But I don't even know my name
And when I try to speak
My words don't mean
What they think they oughtta
What they think they,,
do

It's the butcher:
erosion
Me and
you.