Words by Hunter Dawson
Words by my good friend Hunter Dawson
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I only hoped I could one day convince the highway to sleep inside my veins So that even if you lost your road home, you’d still have a way. And maybe I wouldn’t feel so out of place in my own state Always waiting on the rain to wash out this old taste.
We used to dance, didn’t we? And I mean with conversation free of ramparts and not just the way we moved our feet.
The way we would speak. Like maybe something once moved inside you with the same hunger for me Like lions without teeth begging for heart beats.
I hoped someday, I hoped.
You are not alone in darkness. I’ve waited for my tongue to press it passed my teeth. There’s a monster in my belly and in my brain as well That not even Helios could quell And besides, I’m Phaethon at best Lightning bolts through my chest Hands pseudo-gripped to reigns against fiery manes
Breathing with regards to death.
I tried to kiss the sky and no one would tell me it wasn’t mine. Something pushed back.
Culled for cardiac
When you told me you loved me maybe I misunderstood. A forgotten harvest, the whole kingdom’s starving. I’ve been planting gardens with hands made of burnt wood.
Still The night stops for none. In the midst of stranger’s conversations Accents Accidents For the extent: I am no one.
I only ever wanted to be someone to you For you
They never tell you how hard it is to write certain words.
When the middle of the East Coast became a love letter
My hair was shorter then And we let everyone else talk about the weather. Our conversation was holy And your laugh was every hallelujah tempo And not The choir at the bottom of the ocean telling me to hold my breath.
Now Nights I am the wolf Howling With or without Only Proving to The world or myself That I have A voice.
How many mornings now
Spent reading the obituaries Expecting at least one of our names?
Now the table holds my coffee cold As my thoughts linger in the ashtray.
How many mornings now Moving like a Ghost Between doorways?
I’ve been running through cloves and stacks of smoke. My minds been put away like a hotel book and I keep finding myself next to the smokestack where the river flows Hands outstretched, covering myself in dirt and hoping something grows.
“My spine is not a messed tangle of vines. My spine is not a messed tangle of vines. My spine is not a messed tangle of vines…”
I woke up on the riverbank after singing myself to sleep. I focused my vision and the trees were all staring back at me. I felt mud dried on my face But When I looked down my hands were clean.
And I thought about you I’m always thinking about you And I saw my body as more than just a body And I saw our bodies as more than just bodies I felt it like bridges and roots…
I felt it like a calming in my chest But when I whispered your name these forest fires started to spread.
Bless The Fences, Bless The Street
The dogs are howling only two streets away I’m left staring at the fire in my palms Dreaming of burning down everything.
The choir sings & I’m somewhere lost between these hallways
There’s still not enough blood in the psalms But I keep singing along in my hedonistic ways
I’m still sinking as the bands begin to play
I sang to you songs of the spring Still imbalanced in the worst kind of way.
I know you’ve forgotten the words, But I hope you haven’t forgotten what it means.
Maybe the DNA rearranged You couldn’t quite tell Who I was anymore
But I still feel the same In love with your face Laughter in bits of paint
Maybe you’re over it Or you just don’t feel it any more
Lungs Like Canopies
SHOUT TO THE SOUTHERN NIGHT!
We all have voices, but how rarely we use them More intent to fall content Thinking we understand but only entrapped in the confusion
MAYFLOWER SING SWEET CHARIOT SWING WE ARE NOT EMPTY VESSELS (and this is exactly how I felt the first time you said my name)
There’s a canopy there inside my chest and not a cage And you’re the bluebird always keeping me awake Flying along the tree lines that line my veins
(From the outside this might seem strange) Chemicals, Humans, Faith, Love It’s all the same.
SHOUT TO THE SOUTHERN NIGHT! Repeat after me: we are alive, we are alive, we are alive. We all have voices (Dear God, why would we waste them on a sigh?)
It doesn’t feel quite right. I cannot merely whisper your name lest my heart falls through the floor and my tongue burns your bluebird flame. And then that canopy might change turning a forest into a desert (And we’d be left praying for the rain)
I think I woke up one morning with my brown eyes turned something dark And I knew we were always this forest fire and not just a spark. But I feel lost.
SHOUT TO THE SOUTHERN NIGHT! I am a temple and not a shipwreck Hands next to near perfect wrist (Oh but I think my body, heart, and mind are in a fight)
Do you think birds ever get lost in the sky?