Cosmic Salad

by Cold Clod

supported by
/
  • Streaming + Download

     

1.
2.
01:03
3.
4.
5.
6.
02:16
7.
8.
9.
10.
01:08
11.
12.
13.
04:58

credits

released November 1, 2012

tags

license

all rights reserved

about

Cold Clod New Hampshire

contact / help

Contact Cold Clod

Streaming and
Download help

Track Name: Apples, Mushrooms
We pluck these fruits to be irrelevant.
Crispened in autumn air, they drop, deflate,
resolve into a dew, and only now
allow the networks to reform, emerging
in pale bodies at night, after a rain.

In you an airy earthiness, one growing
out from the other as harmonics in a handrail
or bleacher bench. How it lingers, aloft,
dissolving in the round of fruit and fungus,
floating in the treetops of your song.
Track Name: Comb
for Charlie's bee video:
http://hhhoneyyy.tumblr.com/post/23196329366
Track Name: Turnips All The Way Down
A web of rubbery taproots
jiggle in baskets on the tractor
as if at any moment one might cry out
or giggle, only to turn up later
in stews for months to come.

Today we elated syssipheans
plunge fist after cold fist
after stalk and purpling bulge,
scattering perforations
over hollow, frosted earth.

Cold clods hold fast
to baskets lining the field
that lines the road
that lines the mountains
that line the coast.

It gets swept up in that way,
or swept down rather,
brushed along a bit until
they, we, are specks
in some astounding dustpan.
Track Name: Moon of the Sun
Strange how these qualia singe the light
and not the eye, one's gaze instilled
with frays that winde and curle backwards
like barbs on a fisherman's hook.

Comparisons cheapen it, really.
Here and now, a swirling feeling.
A shift in breeze. Dropping acorns.
Some light among the grasses.
Track Name: Lava Moss
From the car I imagine
the crusty senescence
carpeting berserkers
and sheep remains alike,

observed only by frozen
man-shaped stones
arranged in various poses
overlooking the road

as spores swirl about
their blackened calves
stuck in the loam
of former magma.

A little green quiet now
as the wind subsides,
the showy frills of lichen
purpling into dusk.
Track Name: Greens, Leaves
Were those oblique grass stains
on her dress? Soil gathered in the cuffs
of his pant legs? These spiralling thoughts
derailed only in discovering at this rough age
that spinach is best eaten savagely
and by the fistful, those hands becoming
tactile again, no longer fingered shovels
or stumped branches, but dextrous, tender,
able to pluck out notes on a keyboard
or mandolin, to roll up the flannel sleeves,
fold by dark-green fold, and set the record
straight: it isn't a matter of nourishment.
Track Name: Roots & Berries
The prodding lips and teeth that purse and pull
had come to pay me visit in the wood
with an agreement to be brief, to leave
few tracks in humus dead with rotting weeds,
the stones mostly in place along the trail,
to compartmentalize oneself into
a black mass hurtling through the mountain laurel.
Track Name: Sun of the Moon
That's it. Load the color film, Jim.
The cosmos isn't exactly thronged with
such handsome valleys and blue washes
that glow as if from within, like the little fish

in your aquarium back home. There it hangs,
half-dressed, half-absorbed in night,
while the big black backdrop sparkles
with signs of others more or less the same.
Track Name: Walt Whitman
"America
Centre of equal daughters, equal sons,
All, all alike endear’d, grown, ungrown, young or old,
Strong, ample, fair, enduring, capable, rich,
Perennial with the Earth, with Freedom, Law and America
Centre of equal daughters, equal sons,
All, all alike endear’d, grown, ungrown, young or old,
Strong, ample, fair, enduring, capable, rich,
Perennial with the Earth, with Freedom, Law and America
Centre of equal daughters, equal sons,
All, all alike endear’d, grown, ungrown, young or old,
Strong, ample, fair, enduring, capable, rich,
Perennial with the Earth, with Freedom, Law and Love."