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In A Stampede

from Torso by Cole Blu

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lyrics

“If I could only hold you close for a moment
and I hope it’s not too much
but there’s still light glinting on that garden we glimpsed and almost touched.”

That was how we sounded, for years, pretty much -
striving for a mirage,
in the morning, with a pen, at a basement show, and in bed -

but to believe in building sandcastles, to take the measurements of dunes! (despite the worlding world always rebirthing,
and almost slipping from your hands.)

But the wind can’t be ignored, anymore, always buzzing -
cartographers lined up for coffee like geese migrate
and the salesmen fill the temple.

(and I’ve been at it long enough to know you
can get someone off but you can’t make them love you
back.)

And it’s written Jesus turned over the tables,
and cast the merchants out, but we all know that god is dead
and now the tables are the wind.

And if a whip were in the picture it would be for different purposes indeed.
O tell me Laurie Anderson, where do we go?
O Mom and Dad, how could you not know?
The curtains tremble and we're breathing in our sleep,
the moonlight, the Harlem night unlike anything we could have dreamed
but we can’t back to that mirage.

Rushing water in the valley and psilocybin rushing in the
brain - years ago, when we walked here,
and our parents walked behind us,
cascading years around us -
(always writing).
the shifting shadows and sighing canopy.

(in those eyes, the hillside became material
the breath less an anchor than a stopwatch
maybe thankful it was only drilling for poetry
but still the question comes - “where is that son?”).

“So we may be entropicswirling atoms”, driving north, I’d conceded to Joni
(flashes of laughing stumbling by the wine-drunk Seine)
“but it's so dark to see connection as some tether; to run from love like cactus trees -
I'd rather be like Andre, setting sail past the shallow waters for previously uncharted seas.”
and so troubled, I change the music.

And so if I only could, I’d hold you close for a minute,
no hesitation or distance,
in some deal with divinity.

(Hold on, Macondo!
The wind's not blowing yet.)

credits

from Torso, released April 28, 2023

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about

Cole Blu image

Cole Blu Brooklyn, New York

NYC.

Interested in the poetics and broken narrativities of memory.

Songwriter, producer, guitarist, composer.

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