A Bandcamp Friday Playlist and a Poem for the Drummer of Leatherface
Hey! Here's a Bandcamp Friday Mix! (tracklist below) https://bndcmpr.co/f58aebfb
And here's a poem I wrote for the drummer of Leatherface. I have no idea if it's any good. I'm not fishing. It might, in fact, be bad. Your guess is as good as mine.
Dickie Hammond and Andrew Laing On The Moon
Books about UFOs, whodunnits; the rope, the pipe, the candlestick.
The Butler, the outer space butler does it.
Sound in space astronauts
on clouds, one through eight.
Where have all the rude boys gone? Well, some of them are here.
Doing what the living do, but dead.
Gravity dis-respecters as gravitational specters,
Apple disgorgers, pomegranate seeders, never leavers—
Heavenly seething, cherubic d-beaters, leaning into the ride,
leaving the hi-hat unclenched.
It’s a rush of metallic shushing, like wind through raked leaves;
A terrible twigging, circling the drain of a tornado.
Angels playing chromatic guitars, smashing their instruments,
mean mugging to hidden cameras; a constellation of self taught (mad) scientists,
living rent free on the head of a pin, recording and falling,
wrestling with some sweaty and bewildered prophet…
You know; angels doing angel shit.
Now, the drummer.
Compared to angels and vampires, who doesn’t die young?
If there’s anything too pure for this world, here’s the proof.
Reading books about UFOs, Grant Hart never got his encore.
Instead, he graduated to a bigger stage.
The mystery solved, but who wouldn’t kill for another page?
In heaven when you smile. In heaven when you don’t.
Frankie Stubbs rhymes “moon” with “honeymoon,”
Confirming, once and for all, the imagist divinity of hubris.
“You can’t drink flowers but flowers can drink”
Hell, like other people, does not exist.