1. |
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granite for granted; marvel for marble
afraid,
i stayed underneath the sky too long.
sunbaked,
i may call myself petrified.
too late
for clean slates: epitaphs already carved.
words too busy escaping
and phrases fail to form.
we’re turning to stone.
we’re turning into stone.
but you’re wearing me out.
start to weather,
slowly chiseling down
engraving thoughts of you.
but you’re scaring me now:
pick and hammer in your hands,
chipping away…
irate,
you grate deeply on my pebbled eyes.
awake,
i laid in self-imposed slow suicide.
mistake.
now i wait. maybe i can be remade.
if somehow we are forgotten,
forget all i say.
we’re turning to stone.
we’re turning into stone.
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2. |
This is My Helicopter
03:53
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|
this is my helicopter
all aboard. the engines on.
start the propeller. move along
off the ground. i can see down below:
the people swarm as ants march on,
the cars are matchbox on the lawn.
panoramic views around.
i hope we have enough gas,
hope we have a future,
hope we make it across the continents that we pass.
almost there or so i’m told.
watch the world from window holes.
there’s downtown. maybe it will explode.
the streets run wild. our pilot shot.
i hold the pistol, gave away the plot
and we’re spiraling. we will be unwound.
i think i see smoke.
i think i hear something broken.
i think i sense a stroke approaching.
and i think i, again, am flying blind.
arterial is in the nature of the wreckage,
an aspect of the pains and it remains
bacterial, creating motion in the sickness,
constriction of the veins.
an analogy.
always near but always cold
like our bodies when they’re pulled
from where they’re found off a discarded road.
rubble warm. the crops are charred.
we burning in your front yard,
admiring the underground.
i think i smell smoke.
i think i taste something sulfur.
i think i felt you choke, but it’s over.
and i think i, again, am a dying sign.
i’d like to thank you for riding my airlines.
i hope it’s been a pleasant flight and enjoy your stay.
if i may, please come again if we happen to survive:
we have a black hawk down.
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3. |
January
04:16
|
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|
january
the room is filled with smoke,
try to carve our way out of here.
we’re finding an end to climbing the walls.
with every breath, we choke
on stale air perfectly paired
with the taste of false hope.
maybe then i’ll live again.
imprisoned inside.
apart meant cellblocks
disconnected:
effective way
to stay paralyzed.
the tomb where we awoke
so hollow, only empty echoes there
of the last time that we spoke
where we chose to just both
say tomorrow, maybe i will let you in.
this view is one big joke.
maybe my laughter’s insincere
or i’m biding my time until destiny calls.
sarcastically i wrote
do if you dare
but i couldn’t care
about these tales of false hope.
maybe then i’ll live again.
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4. |
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on being a supergiant in a galaxy of red dwarves
i know the sun is always down
in your part of the world
and it seems so dark
when the atoms start their advance,
hang on and don’t let go.
just give me a chance.
just give me a head start.
maybe we can be the only ones standing
taking the stars apart.
absurd, the solar system is black
from your part of the earth,
in the furthest depths
when the cosmos chart their attack.
head down. don’t look back.
just give me an answer.
give me a code to crack.
maybe we can be the only ones spanning
the visible scars of a damaged zodiac.
you’re out of orbit so focus on the light.
back and forth it’s swinging,
pendulum rays bring
photographs of safe things.
you say you’re past the point of no return.
and i can’t help but sternly disagree.
we are all just lonely.
you know the sun is always weak
in your view of the world.
eclipsing the heart,
the shadows menace and dance.
tell the moon to relax.
just give her the message.
just remember you’re on track.
maybe you can be the only one standing
breaking the stars to shards.
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5. |
One in Vermillion
03:41
|
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|
one in vermillion
there’s a stutter in the twilight,
a stammer in their speech,
leaching onto glasses,
imbibing disbelief
that they could find
each other at the bottom.
somehow their cups are full.
talk intoxication
dialogue never controlled.
the end of times.
they sit alone
holding their own
hearts in their hands
and their heads in their palms.
if anything is left of him,
it might just be this song
and like the wine,
every story has a closing.
every glass eventually breaks.
burst veins are cracked and bleeding
so drink up, it’s getting late.
it’s time to beat the sky.
the wind, it breathes
like rustling of leaves
whispering goodbyes
and sighs of relief.
they’ll be sleeping in a bottle
and drowning underneath.
it’s time to lie down.
her lips were of ruby red.
in the early morning,
they could wake up blue instead.
behind a cellar door,
choking on metaphors
like victims at the gallows
but with a bottle in hand.
they’re ruby red.
they’re ruby red.
their thirst was a compulsion,
their drinking a disguise
masking their consumption,
but he was drinking in her eyes.
they’re ruby red.
they’re ruby red.
her words were colored sanguine.
she sounded like bordeaux.
wash away the context,
how he died he’ll never know.
they’re ruby red.
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6. |
Okay, Mantis
04:43
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okay, mantis
at some point, i recall backyards
the clouds carried faces and first names.
there was so much meant to be
and what it meant to me.
everything seen intently.
so just go. for hours, i’d stay in dreams.
deadweight, i waited.
i fear we are
expired, outdated.
an alarm
misplaced and jaded,
it’s absent charm.
stalemate sedated
shots in arms.
flashlight elated,
our eyes charred.
facts straight,
we’re baited.
life in
a jar.
remember joining cardboard boxcars,
a solid fortress, just the place to play.
maybe that’s where i’m meant to be
and that’s solely bracing me.
innocence ends instantly.
and i suppose, for days, i escape in my dreams.
we kept fate still slated,
scribed in the stars.
exclaimed. debated.
we’re changing arms.
about-face misstated:
fired. discharged.
extrapolated
all the data within,
catalogued and dated.
this is my
life in
a jar.
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The Owl in Daylight Los Angeles, California
welcome to THE OWL IN DAYLIGHT: a tight-knit, los angeles-based pop-punk / post-hardcore band, rooted in a sound that they grew up with; nostalgia for east bay, ca & chicago pop-punk rock of the 90’s, blending high-energy rhythms & singalong vocal hooks. lyrically grounded in poetry, THE OWL IN DAYLIGHT bridges the gap of seemingly simplistic, catchy, punk rock style & technical, progressive edge. ... more
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