A Darkness Makes Offers


A darkness makes offers
Maybe just listen first
Friends with similar interests

I woke up in a jacket
Pajamas laid out and
There was a bed and blanket
Everybody's doing it for a minute

You don't even know how warm the night is

Hey let me see that

History up to my eyeballs
I close dream of sleep that goes backward
I dream like a child
God is the disease that I was born with, am returning
Nobody can tell how long eternity is
Stars on the ceiling
A calendar, alarm, heat and ashes
I laid with you until I didn't realize I was burning
We spoke of cancer
We got hungry
We ate each other's validation until we were one
We bought concert tickets
Inside a symbol turned into an organ
The room black not nearly over
It was easy to touched, be touch
Pleasure in meaning enough
Keep some in a plastic bag pocket
For when the rhythm gets tough
The toilet picks up signals
Water unrepeating is absorbed music
Freedom weakened by bent kneecaps
Awareness spent among the living
Emergency of connection
We are in the same place with whoever we're there with
I imagined we were back together in your bathtub
Imagination is a coincidence defying logic
It could be anybody
They asked me who I wanted I said no

Still missing

The right words and medicine

Spirit that died better

I handwrote a resignation letter
Had it signed by my teacher
Please excuse Name's absence
We are busy forgetting lessons

I forged a prescription
Had it endorsed by my preacher
Please command Name's presence
He is in need of guidance

You don't even know how wrong you are

There is a salvation to chanting fuck
Magic curses
Broke boundaries talking the adults up
It's so fragile
It only takes a syllable
There is a flag on fire and amazing grace
I love you rage
I hate you face
Punch the mirror and drink that blood
There is a cell I can't live without
I called from the alley
You told me come home
A blindness makes gestures
Before sound hits a wall
When I got there
We were already alo



Rambler, troubadour, dissident tablet, unsuppressed badass, mugwump agitator, active verbiator, fine print peruser, incontinent spirit, heretical accountant, America addict, knowledge sharer, provider when asked of free literature, radical cowabunga royal ranto this then here Matt Clifford is a middle-aged carpenter teen wife candy poet eating journals off the bathroom floor publishing the result on a gold scroll. He is the author of The RantoDance of Anonymous from Necropolis and his Machine, and Ballad of Todd Last Year, and the bassist of Black Market Translation.