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Posts Tagged ‘ecology’

We bounce on the Siberian ground
The snow absorbs the laughing sound
Your breath has shards and your voice is weak
And when the soil breaks, its gas will speak

Of the sometimes lips of Siberian birds
On their grocery rounds, speak in minor thirds
They too act with a unitasking brain
The gas on which they float is sane

Find its idiom in childish lungs
Stentorian notes and Götterdämmerung
Mingles and cocktails with poisons in the air
And the masses of people who once lived there

Gas gives its spirit, its spirit released
Its valediction, the ocean its priest
And when its moment of flower has ceased
The human hole seeks to close in peace

Find its idiom in childish lungs
Stentorian notes and Götterdämmerung
Mingles and cocktails with poisons in the air
And masses of people who once lived there

And it got too hot for us to live there
But our letters remain, its past we share
The flowers open, the flowers stare.

(Lyrics to “Methane Moth,” from the new Salon de la Guerre album From Sour to Cinnamon.)

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The trash bag goes out.
My trash is the fossils of the feelings I had two days ago
And no longer remember
Hunger. Angry checks sent. Fear I’d starve the kid
And now my anxious beer bottles go porpoise-nosing in the green Pacific
Angry wrappers of chocolate. Cigarette butts that gave your lungs gas
And the thrill of paying for a small whiff of death
All these little skeletons, the spirit gone out of them.
Possessed and unpossessed.
While its despondent eyes turned toward new lusts
For breasts and thighs and legs and skin
And other things the soul makes into paper

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The latest Salon de la Guerre album drops this week. It’s called From Sour To Cinnamon, and it’s a slate of big candy-like pop songs with a dark center. Check out this track from the album, set to release Monday.

All the wrongs on this album were made by yours truly, including music, lyrics and production.

“Amphibious Grandkids”
By Eric Randolph Rasmussen
Copyright 2019

Take them to the aquarium
Take them to the Grand Canyon
Set your grandkids loose to swim
While you sit at look at ’em.

The froggy skin and the set of gills
You never knew we’d have them
But these fish were spawned from your loins
You’d never know to look at them

Your grandchild no longer walks the earth
Or plays his video game

A patronymic and a set of fins
And the memory of land
Your legacy in sedimentary rock
Your fossil of vestigial hands
Cause you bequeathed your sons a water world
While you drove your car around

Your grandchild no longer walks the earth
Or plays his video game
Now he plays with a set of flippers
But still has your name

A patronymic and a set of fins
And the memory of land
Your legacy in sedimentary rock
Your fossil of vestigial hands

Cause you bequeathed your sons a water world
While you drove your car around
Once you thought you’d take Manhattan
Now it’s all Long Island Sound

I don’t believe that he glitch-killed me
It was crazy enough to kill you
Amphibious grandkids swim away
Too hungry to be mad at you

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