Wavelengths - Cymbals Eat Guitars

This contusion-colored evening

maybe you paint the silhouette

of the gaunt tree line singed in '97

when wildfires threatened my development

and the swallowed towns the Klan had founded

the shaded sand dens were party caverns

for them who’d come hallucinate while we slept

scaring our rabbits to death in their hutches

can’t remember how I used to live

but they’ve all cased their jumps

fatally I willed it to be

in the hours of blankness preceding sleep

oh the years we waste faking remorse

every decision I have ever made

bred the branching future’s mute howlers

with burst-vessel red eyes

roaring inaudibly

on the freezing morning walk to the dim corner grocery

what hangs over big empty country

reborn in negatives of photos of dusk

regret so huge it’s on a phantom axis

receding beaches hissing hearing damage

and the miles-long column of cold moonlight cast across

still seas when my nose begins to bleed

some submitted to having their lights put out

by basement thrill killers

in the neighborhood I heard being murdered is no experience

ten or eleven wounds

in it’s not about Satan or anything you just die

it’s weird