1. |
Eastbound
02:17
|
|||
|
The moving quiet in the morning
on I-70, eastbound,
listening to meditations—
celeste and vibraphone
and repetitions
and repetitions
And gentle-breathing-barely-snoring.
Driving all around the bends
of the canyon, up the mountains—
the best views I have known
from the driver's seat,
looking out or in.
I had a question that was storming
in my blood—prairie
dusk and orange-purple skies
provided confidence
in eternity—
and so I asked it.
|
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2. |
July
01:15
|
|||
|
I never liked home's summer heat—
the stench of shit and industry's
sludge water. Algae—bubbling green,
and grumpy geese who honk away.
Flat as fuck and boring, like nobody
ever has a goal or
makes demands of life—
They watch it pass and can't complain.
The morning sun and muggy air—
the smoke and coffee on the stairway
to the porch. Another day
to live it now a nicer way.
|
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3. |
Words
02:53
|
|||
|
Presence, patience,
gestures, efforts, and
least of all, I thought,
words.
Words are defined by the words
which confine them,
so least of all, I thought,
words.
I heard
"I love you"
from a friend who
hurt my heart
and harmed another's
body and mind—
but they spoke often,
and with eloquence,
conviction, and
radiating kindness.
They spoke of grace and
compassion
and holiness.
These words taste bitter
as they pass from out my lungs
and over my tongue,
and spill out the lips
that I thought revealed my heart;
But I know—
they are not wrong.
So I will say "I love you,"
while I am wrapped up
in your arms
before driving from your home;
and again to myself,
crying in my car because
I miss you,
though it's only been
an hour alone.
|
||||
4. |
Beans
02:10
|
|||
|
The absolute precision
in the weighing of the beans,
the finest focus on the grind,
And never looking up
During the timing of the pour.
A sweet aroma rushing from
the frothy bubbling mixture and
the spreading of the steam
Inspire all my sleepy senses
in the morning. I have tried
a trillion cups of joe
but none so light and fruity
as the ones that disappointed you
for lacking what you sought.
"This is the mind of an artist,"
I thought.
|
||||
5. |
Colder
03:46
|
|||
|
Of course I think about the future—
It's the only way
my day progresses.
It's difficult
to carry on like this—
so far-off and lonely.
Almost like it isn't real—
But it's always on my mind—
consistency;
It's why I
make it through another night
of snotty guests
and liquor sticking to
my arm hair
and bits of broken glass
rooted in my fingers.
It will be colder and busier soon.
Oh, that it were June again—
'Cause I won't have a weekend
until Thanksgiving.
But I am determined that
by December
I will leave and find it,
because wherever
I end up
is my new home
if I am with you.
I promise this is real
because I feel it.
|
||||
Jadot Austin, Texas
Jadot is Mitch Stevens.
Composer/multi-instrumentalist based out of Austin, TX.
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