brianbrock.com



> People in the Sky

by Brian Brock, Laveen, Ariz., Spring 2018

Drink Water from Cupped Hands
Ocotillos (Ghosts in the Real World)
It's Like Darkness
Long Way Swimming
I Fuck Your Heart
Growing Potatoes
["Mozambique" ; Death and Goblin Valleys]
How Sweet I Roamed (text by William Blake)
Citronel
(electric lullaby)
People In The Sky


lamb


Drink Water from Cupped Hands

Step through the rashes and the reeds
Oh dimlit marshes in the pines
The tick and talking fields
Bending creekbed beetle-shine

Oakleaves patterning the pool
Oh drink the darkness in the sand
No fool upon no hill
Go down into the green and holy land

A kiss of silver air flush moonrise
Oh the glassy leaves of tender frost
Woollibears and spider flies
Watch the wingless birds dancing in the dust




Ocotillos (Ghosts in the Real World)

Ocotillos on the hillside
Red bells hold sunset
Lost in the Superstitions
In each others' fictions
Ghosts in the real world

Ocotillos on my mind
Deep green under spines
Lost in the lost memories
Carried in the lost cameras
Ghosts in the real world

Nothing is real
But the fire in the wires
No one can feel
But the fool in the fire

And the prairies will burn
Oo-oo-ooh
And the shriek and the skirl
Oo-oo-ooh
And the switches will turn
(Oo-oo-ooh)
And the message untold
(Oo-oo-ooh)
Oo-oo-ooh, ghosts in the real world

Ocotillos on a canvas
Forever in the wires
Lost in the file structure
Figmented rupture
Ghosts in the real world




it's like darkness

it's like darkness in the windows hanging on the wall of your childhood home
darkness in blinking eyes
darkness in a sky that was light just an hour ago
words hanging in air hanging in space hanging in time
i feel out there when i reach my hands out
i feel it's like cotton and thunder and wavering eyes
it's like darkness in the rut of a wagon wheel on an old old trail going where no no wheel's rolling on
it's like darkness




Long Way Swimming

You stay over there
and I'll stay over here

I've been swimming swimming
I've been swimming long way through the ocean
I've been swimming swimming
I'm very tired and I'm very wet
Long way swimming but not home yet
I tried to visit and you were not at home
I spent some time on your island alone
It's just like mine, small and far away

You stay over there
and I'll stay over here

I've been swimming swimming
I've been swimming
Long way through the ocean




I Fuck Your Heart

Regina
Don’t touch me
Don’t have touched me
I am a flower
I fuck your heart

Petals, nape, and knee
I stir your pretty blossom pollen

Regina
I fuck your flower heart
Don’t touch me

Endless fields of white snow cotton
Dandelion down hover, sleepy daymoths
Pups and chicks at play upon the prairie
The babybells ring the evening light

Regina
Don’t touch me
Don’t have touched me
I am a flower
I fuck your heart



Growing Potatoes

Growing potatoes on a desert homestead
A dog, the stars, and little garden
Each night they fade in
Just waiting until they come for me

Growing potatoes on a desert homestead
A dog, the stars, and little garden




["Mozambique" ; Death and Goblin Valleys]

Mozambique, with its aqua blue skies, as you describe it, in love
and dancing cheek to cheek for a week, certainly sounds nice.
I do enjoy a romantic and pleasantly social getaway. But,
I must admit that from your description, I would not know it from Madagascar.
Is there something in particular about Mozambique which you like?

The thing is, we can go anywhere together, anywhere you like.

I like to go to Death and Goblin Valleys, which seem to hold my heart's mystery.
Someday you'll go there with me, but as long as we're together, we'll be fine.

Let's just meet up at a coffee shop and then step outside the door together.




How Sweet I Roamed (William Blake)

How sweet I roam'd from field to field,
And tasted all the summer's pride
'Til the prince of love beheld
Who in the sunny beams did glide!

He shew'd me lilies for my hair
And blushing roses for my brow;
He led me through his garden fair,
Where all his golden pleasures grow.

With sweet May dews my wings were wet,
And Phoebus fir'd my vocal rage
He caught me in his silken net,
And shut me in his golden cage.

He loves to sit and hear me sing,
Then, laughing, sports and plays with me;
Then stretches out my golden wing,
And mocks my loss of liberty.




Citronel, the celebrated

Citronel, the celebrated student of satellites and constellations, peered deep into a smouldering pool.

Bluest depths to dark hollows, shallows shimmering in the wind, soil soft crackling and shifting, the spring spoke, "O scholar -- Within this throat a star burns true, a flame of the real, a mirror of fire. Within this eye a light witnesses itself. Cast within, for the limitless perforation is much too far away."

Confounding mists encircled the scientist, glowing red and black, saying, "I am a moth within your fire, writhing the dance of incineration. Settled into your depths, from the still point I gaze out into heaven. I look through your eye, speak through your voice."

Night lay heavy on the shoulders of the valley. The thoughtful astronomer felt the pause in her work while the sky slid through the thickets. At moonrise the vapors thinned to whispers. "Stay with me," pled the water, "search within until until-until -"

"The lines," she writhed, "the points and lines. O the vastness, the multitude."

The pool is empty now, a space opening into dawn, into the disappearing stars.




(electric lullaby)




People in the Sky

I'm not looking for love
Just a moment of kindness

Calling Occupants of Interplanetary Craft
People in the Sky
Lights hovering over the horizon
People in the sky

Calling occupants of interplanetary craft
People in the sky

"Calling Occupants of Interplanetary Craft"

I'm not looking for love
Just a moment of kindness




lamb