1. |
Drift Spark
01:16
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2. |
Poem 1
01:06
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When I put hope in the trash
and sink into the acceptance of ending
something assuredly leaves me
Only I don’t know what
and now sitting in Sedona
I don’t know what I’m doing
just trying to be happy
and that’s always slipping past
Not that I’m besties with sorrow
just that now is so empty
and what once held articulated diagrams
is now just blank canvas
I don’t dream anymore
of an anarcho-future
or of a day without hunger
I don’t dream of saving the seas
now I only ask every morning
What’s the weather today?
And my plans spin spirals around
avoiding freezing and finding temperate
mountains and elevation just AC settings
Any hope of change gets put aside
and the leaving of the thing scars my hands
as I let the insides of me shift around
my stomach gurgles in protest
and my mind feels fogged by something
One day maybe
I’ll say I love you again
and we can find a nice place to die.
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3. |
Phrygian Desert
04:10
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When the lips crack
from desert and dry
lost wind please take me
along for the ride
So loose me with sheepskin
and cloak to find
one shelter place
alone to die
With cacti piled high
I'll sit down to die
the passing of wind
and long dead fles
These bones will be dust
and all I have sung
will become lost
in a queer holocaust
When the boots fall
onto this neck
I will choke
and lose all breath
From state I will die
with soul long gone
to dance with the angels
and lie witht sun
As I am buried
deep underground
the flowers will laugh
without any sound
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4. |
Poem 2
01:20
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Wasting away amongst red rocks
I’m never gunna find Jesus
not matter how many hallelujahs I sing
or crosses I wear
No picture and ziplock baggie
is gunna fix the rifle I worked into my spine
or the commitment I made while asleep
Liking Jesus and wishing I was a
Better Buddhist isn’t doing shit
to put out the plans of arson in my head
or the quiet reminder of gunpowder
every time I smell sweat
The isolation from all that’s Left
is making me feel estranged
here in a tourist cash trap
and no matter what other people say
I keep wanting someone’s dick in my mouth
and someone to press my spine into shape
and something to make me other than
just neutral and okay and fine and bored
Something to get me high again
because I’ve been telling lies again
to parents and friends and strangers
that I’m so sober and together
that I’m not smoking crack in basement
squats of hollowed out office buildings
That I don’t take doses with resignation
towards withdrawal and dependence
With each day it’s easier to be
and I’m not lost or gone anymore
even if there’s some sores on my tongue
the better part is healed scars
with only a few red fingernail marks.
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5. |
Psalm 22
03:27
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I’ve been rolling along this old asphalt road
I’ve been biding my time just watching it all tick away
Every eve I’ve in the evergreens I listened for the essence of your grace
I’ve been wandering on, I’ve been holding out so long
Those holy eyes of yours ‘ve been avoidin’ me all my life
When I met you on the mountain top, you told me that what I had to be
To put that whiskey down, turn your face over to the sea
I’ve been trying for days and decades to find your grace
For you told me so, good lord, you told me not to go
Decades have passed your face while I’ve been waiting on your grace
Oooh lord, oh my sweet Lord
Oooh lord, oh my sweet Lord
Oooh lord, oh my only friend
Oooh lord, oh my blessed King
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6. |
Poem 3
02:11
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I keep trying to write songs about Jesus
and every time I can’t find words
and only dull syllables of other songs
and echoes of simplistic melodies
with words that mean nothing to me
I keep trying to sing about
seeing your face or your Grace
being saved in some way
but instead all I see
Is rain drops
soaking Oklahoma grass and dirt
pooling in suburban streets
Feeling like tomorrow and the day after
won’t happen and that I’ve already
been stealth broken up with
months into saying love
And right now it’s melodrama
because tomorrow might not happen
and instead maybe it’ll just be
me play banjo alone in a park
and evenings alone with videogames
Wishing I knew someone in this town
who wants to see me again
wishing I didn’t just habitually
let everyone down
Dropped calls from Nashville
and ghosts from Memphis haunt me
Assholes I’ve let go in El Paso and
now Tucson people won’t see me
I don’t know exactly
if it’s me or the drugs or the hormones
if I said something wrong or not enough
if the miles of silence and leagues of air
was just too much for a fragile four day old relationship to bare
So when I leave again
maybe I’ll stop trying
to meet people in new cities
and instead just drift through them
play songs for crumbs
and sing for the Internet
because no friends are here to listen
and no one I meet wants to come again
Outside your girlfriend’s apartment
I’ll break down crying
partially because Poe got murdered
partially because my hormones are insane
partially because you went ahead and
stealth broke up by entering into a
monogamous relationship with a cute
terrified trans girl finding her bare feet
Now I’ll break with the word lonely
while trying in vain to find more hands
warm arms and interiors with water
instead it’s just metal walls
and moisture kept in bottles
On days when I make six dollars in six hours
I hear the crimes of my past lives
and when I can’t hold people
I hold stuffed animals
No one likes a dirty tranny
especially not one like me.
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7. |
Dirty Tranny
08:49
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No one likes a dirty tranny
especially not one like me
So I’ll keep playing this fucking banjo
While you keep thinking that I’m a fucking joke
So I’ll get pissy and mean tonight
And then I’ll cry myself to sleep
Cause every time I’m walking into your bathrooms
I’m clutching on-to my knife
And every single day I wanna scream
At the straight cis men who hate me
In the streets of Tucson city
An old weird guy said to me
Get the fuck out of this place
I don’t ever wanna see your fucking dirty face
With dual revolvers glinting on his hip
Christ he sure seemed pretty pissed
In the streets or Somerville
An old cis white man said to me
You pedophile faggot freak dirty tranny
You’re gunna get what’s coming to you
In streets of Tucson city
A cis white guy said to me
How about I give you this single dollar
And in exchange I’ll see those tits
I never felt such an itch
to scream at him like a bitch
Camping down at the local lake
One creepy asshat said to me
what’s that you got in your pants
have you got a pot or a lance?
and a rock I held shaking in my hand
ready to brain him, God damn
On thé sidewalk in Somerville
A scam artist called the cops
Sayin, I don’t wanna see that dirty tranny
Singing out on the sidewalk
In the bathrooms of the local park
Some weird lady yelled at me
Are you a man or a woman?
I’m fucking talking to you
So I held on tight and quaked with fear
Ashamed of my body’s need to piss itself
And every day since then I’ve carried a knife
Just praying that I don’t have to get in a fight
The looks of people walking right on past me
Wondering why I’m wearing a dress
Why is that guy wearing a fucking skirt
Is he some kind of fag?
And I hate this fucking thing I do all the time
Of getting caught up in their bullshit
I live this life of mine under an iron
The glare of the state won’t escape me
So I’ll just scrape the floor for scraps
Another job will turn me away
And every landlord will raise the rent
Because they don’t like how I dress
And every old lady in the supermarket
Is gunna shake her head staring at me
And everyone looking down at my feet
Is gunna see the dirt caked on my knees
An open road all just for me
Sleeping outside under the trees
Crying out for somebody please
Christ I’ve never felt so fucking lonely
When I choose to take myself from this land
Be it with a gun, knife or plan
Don’t forget to give those flowers to mom
Make sure that she knows that I love her
Make sure that she knows it’s not her fault
Because no one likes a dirty tranny
Especially not one like me
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8. |
Poem 4
01:21
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The skin on my hands cracks
not from the desert months
and constant work to breathe
Now it’s peeling because the venue for life
is something I’m allergic to
and the rashes on my arms
and itch in my eye
tells me I’m a disease on the world
and the white blood cells are hunting me
I can hear them in strangled breathing
I can hear them in my racing heart
So it goes
when I am sad life is work
and sending messages on Tinder
is just a job to get the next chemical paycheck
It’s the capitalist super bullshit
telling me everything must be commodity
“I will get what I deserve if I do the work”
Letting go of deserving but each time
I find my fingers wrapped back around
and I peel them off all the time
because this world did me like Mark said it would
Where I gave up trying to be happy
to be high instead and then just scraping by
then searching for happiness again
and now?
I’m estranged from the people in the factory
I’m estranged from the suits and ties
The dirt makes my legs look concerning
and the alienation from short years
of retail and health care
has me stuck in a fabricated reality
based on greed and desire for subjugation
The sandcastles we built last winter
are now painful reminders
of the separation wrought by whip
I don’t want to work anymore
but I’m going to die if I don’t
tow the line.
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9. |
Contract Soul
03:02
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Eighty years a coal miner, eighty years in the black and brackish earth
Eighty years a wage slave, Eighty years a slave unto the boss
Every day he swings his axe, every day deeper into the earth
My dad the coal miner, sold his soul onto the company store
Traded in his eighty years for those six kids of his
Twenty years past his date, he’s still down there mining to this day
Twenty years past that fate, company couldn’t pay the tax rate
An offer they couldn’t refuse made by a fine fellow both known to me and you
My dad the coal miner now working down there deep in the pits of hell
Every day he swings his axe, every day deeper into the brimstone
Eighty years a wage slave, now a slave to satan himself
My dad the coal miner, sold his soul onto the company store
Traded in his eighty years for those six kids of his
Twenty years past his fate, he’s still down there mining to this day
Twenty years past his date, company couldn’t pay the tax rate
An offer they couldn’t refuse made by a fine fellow both known to me and you
My dad the coal miner now working down there deep in the pits of hell
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10. |
Poem 5
01:04
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The one cool person I have a convo with
in weeks and weeks of bullshit
let’s talk about banjo
and dirty kids and quitting drinking
Let’s share weed and promise tomorrow
so when you say racist shit
and I get sad
and miss my mom and mommy
miss your hand and community
company and closeness
I’m just warping my spine in a parking lot
watching trans people naked
and wanting something other than
more empty silence and quiet nothing
but tomorrow maybe, tomorrow’s new
Tomorrow I’ll go north
and see new things
talk to old friends
who when I say
I want community and connection
she can straight up laugh
You don’t find that in asphalt and rest stops
you can find pussy aplenty
and a thousand small kisses and smiles
but building a crew demands they too
pick up their lives with you
Maybe I’ll settle into a few spots
a few places to go for weather
places to spend time other than parking lots
and street corners singing for change
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11. |
Your Mommy
02:16
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Have a good day, or a bad day, or a sad day, I’m not your mommmy
But I could be, if you want me to be, I could be, your mommy
And we’d have good days, and bad days, and sad days, if I was your mommy
We could be, so happy, you and me, together and free
And we’d have good days and bad days and sad days. Together in the sheets
we’d have good days, and bad days, and sad days. And I’d look for you in the trees,
bereft of leaves, I would see, what I please
And with your spine pressed to mine, I’d lose my mind and you’d be kind
We’d have good days and bad days and sad days. If I was your mommy
we’d both be free within the sheets, your mommy, you and me
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12. |
Poem 6
01:14
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I’m having late night fist fights
with wolf spiders who don’t care
and the cicada corpses are crunching now
with each new kick of the drum
Mosquitos are strangely absent
while I’m reviewing my portfolio
high up in West Virginia
high on blunts
where I can’t find creativity
only enthusiasm for the art
The humidity is making my bed wet
more wet than the space I keep hidden
between my two knees
The spiders taking residence in the walls
are comrades now that they’re armed
against the imperial bugs and flies
trying to make homes on my land
I’ll keep missing sleep
because trading hours of rest
for hours of pleasure
becomes always worth it up here
and the fatigue pisses on me
every morning until coffee and blunts
We’ll hit up the late night
Rocky Horror Picture Show
so I can remind myself that my parents
forty years in are still fucking
and that my queerness is itself
demanding of liberation from me
and all the suitcases I’ve carried for years
When I want you to fuck me
we’ll just press what we’ve got
and that will feel more intimate
than a six inch dick of a twenty year old boy
ever has in any town with a Walmart
Four years in I’ll remember to tell you
that I love you.
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13. |
SP Line
02:36
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I will never forget you
Please don’t forget all we’ve been through
All you leave this desert city
Keep me hidden in your pocket
Every hello whispers a goodbye
As you ride these rails please don’t die
Every hello whispers a goodbye
As you rail these lines please don’t die
As you climb into your boxcar
Remember me as you see the stars
As you ride your rail line eastward
Keep me hidden in your pocket
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14. |
Poem 7
01:08
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Feeling sad and mad at cissociety
wanting to cry for aloneness
I’m sorry for this whiny shit
I’m just very sad
and want to be other than here
other than now yet now I am here
I’ve boiled down some things
where I have to make money
and then leave and then make money
while trying to cut time
from capitalism’s heart
so I can steal a few orgasms
pressing my back against a tree
The dog ticks are a pain
but looking down at your mouth
pressed up against my clit
was worth the trouble
of forest creatures following us home
to your half broken trailer
filled with wolf spiders
that I’ve signed a peace treaty with
I can’t stand this now
having to make money
having to sell myself
having to dance to cissies
listening to nationalists
fire off fireworks for future wars
Wars that will worsen my dying lungs
along with the mold and tobacco
and the over inclination to sing
I don’t know if the time between now
and losing my breath forever
will be as pleasant as I want it to be
or if it’ll end short before depth
or if my lungs will break before I make it
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15. |
Tim Rodgers
02:08
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Every mornin’ Tim Rogers would play his violin
Every day he’d turn his wrist, until he’d see the dollars twitch
he’d play that fiddle for you and me
Till that fateful day when old Tim Rogers went away, when he went on down to the old town loop
Old Tim Rogers made a dime, old Tim Rogers lost his mind, not playing violin in the old town, old town, loop
Cops said no you can’t play here, you gotta get right outta here,
pack up and head outta town
He said hey man that ain’t the law, I got permission from the boss,
he told me I can play here
The cops they took his violin, smashed m it on their knees right then
Kicked him right out of his place
With tears upon his face he went to the local magistrate, they’d deprived him of his fate and of his life
There was no retribution, nothing but a dime for him
With tears upon his breast he said, without that fiddle I’d be dead
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16. |
Poem 8
01:02
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Everyone I know will die
and more and more people
I’ve kicked time with and loved
are dying, from heat and murder
from stabbings and heart attacks
Now cis men are calling me a faggot
freak, fraud, pedophile, dirty tranny
and I’ll hold back tears in public
because crying isn’t a good performance
My back is throwing itself out
and driving in railroad spikes
between the discs threatening to slip
So when I pull muscles
I can pull overdraft fees too
in futile efforts to stave off
the inevitable death of my spine
But hand trucks and album sales
aren’t gonna undo trauma
I keep collecting in ziplock baggies
and hiding under my bed until they press
painfully again into my back
Every morning I redress internal bandages
because the blood pouring out my ass
is bright red and speaks only of a
temporary only right here right now pain
that if I just wait diligently and devotionally
it will deliver me to something healed and whole.
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17. |
Scars
03:01
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I’ve got scars on my hands, I’ve got scars on my hands
I’ve got scars on my hands, nicks and cuts and scraps aw damn
I’ve got scars on my mind, and I’ve got scars buried in my spine (or “this old old spine”)
I’ve got scars on my teeth, and I’ve got scars on my knees
(And without pennies or teeth, I’ll fall into peace)
I’ve got scars on my mind, and I’ve got scars buried in my spine
I’ve got scars on my face from razors that gave me no space
And the razors pouring out my mind, whisper that I’ll never be fine
And the red pouring out my spine, reminds me of my limited time.
I’ve got scars on my hands, I’ve got scars on my hands
And every touch in every land, leaves me with scars on my hands
I’ve got scars on my plans, n I’ve seen scars on every land
I’ve got scars on scars, yea I’ve got scars on scars
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18. |
Poem 9
01:06
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The weather has been rain for months
we break new records every day
and I long for the return voyage
to the desert of a happier day
Halls of academia have caked dust
intellectual theories and philosophy
failed to hold back water shortages
and the slow collapse of an evil state
Now I’m doing oil changes myself
because the jiffy lube caught fire
and my lunges run at half mast
from dust I can’t get out
I let myself be something else
because whatever I was before
has always been a product of capital
of fear and resentment and dreams
now that all my opposition is dead
or dying amidst concrete blocks
there’s no ah, no anti, no opposition
My intestines every morning twist
and push out gas and shit
to fuel the next sixteen hours
of trying to do nothing and something
waiting for the drive I’ll find at 11
to play old songs being lost to the world
The dust caked on the tension hoop
will never get cleaned for lack of head
and the blood from my missing tooth
will form crystals in my cheeks
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19. |
Dear Eliza
02:33
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I will walk with you until the stars come down in Hell
You've held on for far too long, I've lost count of your prayers
Oh my dear, dear Eliza, I have watched you fall
I've waited so long with liquor and song for the day you would appear
Oh my sweet, oh my sweet, I will pull you down
Oh my dear, my dear Eliza, wait for me again
Oh my dear, I have forsaken all of your prayers
Though I may fall to the devil and crawl, wait for me
Though I may wish for an abyss, I'll hold onto you
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20. |
Poem 10
01:50
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Laying in bed in a park
wondering why I am depressed
from all the capitalist stress
hating work of all stripes
and all the labor makes me want to die
So I lay in bed instead
waiting for something that will never come
like a pear from an apple tree
or triangular flights of solid gold bees
Waiting for a sunset that won’t mean shit
as if that was all I needed to do
see the orange red purple sky again
and then I’d be through, all of this
gone again until I’m new
and financial anxiety kills me
so instead of presents I got discontent
And I don’t know what I want to do
anymore, there’s no devotion left in me
just drifting through routines I’ve built
and watching palisades built by whiteness
as if knowing would make it better
I thought I had, for this long moment
a life worth living, a thing to do
now I’m just wasting time
getting high, getting laid, not getting by
and I hope it passes
but I honestly don’t know if it will
it probably will
Feelings, like friends, cars and states
all crumble with enough time
There’s a cop in my fucking head
and capitalists in my heart
pulling chains so I become horribly attached
so completely dependent on having money
must keep the bank balance so high
must keep the cushion there, despite
despite the cushion of privilege
because capitalism tells me so
and the cop in my head beats me
if I try to let go of money and fear
So I keep hurting myself with labor
more than I ever really need to
because the handcuffs on my neurons
tell me nothing will be good if I don’t
If I value autonomy like I tell myself
then I have to shoot the cop in my head
who keeps pushing me down
and forcing me to dance for donuts
if I want any real liberation of myself
then I have to lose the chains I made
Where does this start in the mind
and where can I kill it?
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21. |
Porch Light
03:00
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Oh the road has ended and I’m in your arms,
Listening to your heart beat and your charms
High upon the mountain with smoke in the air,
We dance neatly with you dressed so fair
And when the sun does set with your hand in mine
we can kiss the night away, again in time
When the desert sun sets and the chill rolls in
let me find your tattooed fingers again
We can kneel by the fire, your heart in mine
with nothing for us to lose but the fading light
So when the heat comes and drives out our bones
come on back to me when the sun atones
Oh loves, I’m gone again, oh loves, I’m gone
Oh my dear lovers, leave that porch light on
Oh loves, leave that light on for me, leave that one candle burning free
Now in my hometown the ache comes again
Yet In city streets we can build some peace
With the glow of that TV screen, sharing all that we can see
we can laugh in the kitchen, you and me
And in memories you won’t remain, I’ll see you again
when the tires roll once again
Oh my dear lovers, my comrades, my friends
Oh my dear lovers, my comrades, my friends
Oh dear sweet loves, in mountain desert streets, keep on waiting for me
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22. |
Poem 11
01:14
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More and more do I hate people
and more and more do I love friends
and every street corner is harassment
or old men asking to give me oral
So I’ll get yelled at again
and my money stolen, poor tranny
and everyone white and cis
will get bug eye’d when I sing
I’ll be the token faggot
and wear a dress so I can be honey
and the cis people will step on me
and eat all that I could produce
while spitting on the hands that make
If ever I load the rifle and bandolier
and march onto the street chambered
I will die a martyr and become a villain
and all the trans orgs will say
I am a bad egg, mentally ill, misguided
And only while I bleed out
from lead spit by class traitors
will I find a peace of rejecting convenience
and embracing the harsh death
that grants a temporary reprieve of body
When my vision goes black, then
the two halves of me will come together
and I won’t be oppressed anymore
because I will have shot the oppressor
and I will have shot myself.
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23. |
Broken Knees
03:49
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All I ever get is broken knees
and all it ever rains is broken teeth
I've been hanging out with my broken dreams
I've been watching you just scream and scream
while I sit here and eat caramel icecream
you're just gunna tell me I've got low self-esteem
Let's be best friends, you and me
Let's be best friends, you and me
You and me, and all my dreams
I decided on Tuesday to put away my dreams
and gave up on Thursday to be mainstream
so on Saturday I'll eat tacos with sour cream
and you can yell at me for the coffee cream
I'm sorry I gave up on our dreams
I've been building glass walls instead of a house
I'll see you Monday at the courthouse
and we can trade stories and sing about the cows
just don't touch me yet or I'll get too aroused
then we can play doctor inside your play house
then break my knees and call me a good girl please
I've been losing pounds of teeth and shattered dreams
i've been saving pounds of flesh no matte rwhat it seems
One day maybe we'll be on the same team
then I can beg for you to break my knees
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24. |
Bar Room
01:57
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Mx. Flow
They/Them
I make art music for sad trans people and dirty kids. I play banjo and do
everything myself.
Insta/Twitter: Mx.Flow1312
Sticker stickers mxflowstickers
... more
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