International Art & Culture Gallery
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Thursday, December 4th, 2008 |
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Barry Boudreau |
| Singing without guns ( lost sock collection ) |
| Judas We are late For getting the hell out of here Empty solaces provide Old questions and a Sparseness of reckoning sails I can not fall from these hands This sailored discontentment At the table full of gruel The tadpole in the water On winged flight Imagine the recompense When loss sought to cover the cost Every star at night Became its own surrender We are late For getting the halve of the moon And tears fall upon The undiscovered country Centuries of beauty and loss That only called me brother to the fall Light fading even as time Sorry was the emptiest word I said We are late for getting The hell out of here One blue guitar is left singing Bending the shadow at the crossroads I cannot send you the letter With the letter already signed Dear God We are late for getting the hell out of here |
| Cheerleader cry out over the chasm as you take your stance on the shoreline of a broken bridge the drowning is undead would it make it any easier for you to fly? your pain is your cheerleader go ahead and try within depressions hollow you're the rabbit and the wire the pelt of many colors blackened by the fable by the fire would it make it any easier if faith came nailed to a cross? your heart is your revealer and you wish it to wash away wash away burdened sorrow excuse for a landfill souls grown old and the memory wont stay broken down horse of addiction all the sad games concience plays misunderstood root of rebellion as the shadows still stand etched in concrete of Hiroshima the mouth still open in Africa the genocide rape and tourture of the innocent would it make it any easier if faith came nailed to a cross? you can uncover only so much brother but you cant undo yourself wash away the sticks and stones of memory in the backyard wash away the sad excuses of people starve eat dirt and die wash away half the world wondering what the fuck we're fighting for wash away how would it be any easier if faith came nailed to a cross your pain is your cheerleader your pain is your cheerleader go ahead and try |
| Singing without guns Target we are just open ended Fragile and sent to our beliefs As open ended as Picasso Run under ground as a Rothko The blood and guts of an american master. Pitched forks All that has been said. Bleeding from the wounds Every artist left undead. There you are in the country graveyard, Faulkners left the south, and sold gold to bury his name. The don still against the windmill and flies bury under Sanchos' pouch No gettin famous by pissin in the fireplace anymore You can retrace your roots into suicide, and Cranes Bridge cannot hold you anymore. Target we are open ended, Singing without guns. Without words we are lost, and the dead soul country on the television screen populates the silences. Every good book has led me to trust In my understanding completely, Though I cannot call upon my silences That release me upon the shore. Target we are open ended, Singing without guns,. Shading outside Shantytown, Never want the one to be, The excuse of memory, The one that let you down. The fish that sold you down the river. The circus excuse for a clown, Terraced gardens in Ivory and Pearl, Locust ridden and sight unsound, So complete in its silences, The reversal of the mirror, Becomes a holy joke. Target we are open ended, Singing without guns. Target we are open ended. Within this silence of guns. |
| truth and beauty Create the cost and put a price upon redemption. She stands at the gate. Over to me; I reply with Truth and beauty. |
| practice Only now she felt her heart slow down, Slow out his name ; she surrenders a token of memory to solstice spitting grease in the frying pan. This open country, she thinks.. these turned over blankets of pillowed reflection, soon I'll be as fat as that .How do you find yourself a failure at the breakfast of champions? Slow out his name: John must wake him.The yolks hardenig as the yell upstairs becomes a winged flight. Perhaps I'm too hard on him she thinks as at the top of her lungs she calls..John . Enter the princess of granola and yorgourt, Melissa slinks by the sink,unsure that her new found regimen of health is for herself, or just to torture her mother, but damned sure any ressurection her mother has , she will bury the bartered faith between them, not in spite, mind you, just the way love works. John comes down the stairs bedraggled and bedheaded, ready for eggs and peace and understanding. Burnt eggs again he smells the rot between his mum and wyfe. Upon the kitchen table a fresh stand of peonies stood, almost mixing with the blue and grey wallpaper. ' You ready luv?'John utters a nonchalence commitment, and pulls a piece of bacon off the skillet ' soon as aye find me socks'. We are late for getting the hell out of here, the walls are folding in , and mums cooking an om.. let. Melissa works upon the fact she is not a hard woman,'he made me wish the truth did deceive me, but you can only live with a idiot so long. In this fresher taste I can say that the moon removed me, but he will always pay. Slow out his name, maybe I'll let him sleep in for once, so funny him scrambling down the stairs , past his eggs and oatmeal, so afraid of what the big world would do to him for being a minute late, when I spend all my fourtune of loss within these empty walls . 'John, get up!. 'John!' Melissa slinks down the stairs unsure of where she stands between her hard woven hand headdress and memory. 'You ready luv?' 'Soon as I find my socks.' |
| Until Beggar beceesh ou mi day/as if lifter betters bedder bedweather un culls silently unto a sacred loss/de tru I was ton ended betru luv dud escade me/until sorrowed belief/cum fall me tru/recrease tru cal tha releases/ bitter fo ls casent noon/fall upon yor silidness/until bragon divita ferm me hert u las escap me/sorrored i the moon/ tyds fawled tu relelesse thee/until su unce ogin/be me buhnin opff de frynd/po mein ben haingn for it/ cry tu recease/cry yo fo sollow tre sol/until siltsand so gro to roo fore tae soille/mi wundeshanding es thjus/ uopon evrrey fese/uyto de knite de belyf/until |
| trans. jesus relieve all my day/as if love betters bedside the weather and calls silently unto a sacred loss/the truth I was torn because love did escape me/until sorrowed belief/come fall so true/release the silences/ bitter fruit Is presient moon/ fall upon yor silence/until dragon woman / warm the heart that escapes/sorrow the moon/ tides fall to release me/until so once again/I am crying my old friend/my age are hanging to be/ try to release/try to follow your soul/until earth as you grow to recover the soil/my understanding of love/ upon every face/unto the night the belief/until |
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