Black Throated Wind
Posted: Sun Mar 23, 2003 1:56 am
Black Throated Wind
Bid him passage with the chisel of tribute,
offer every form of courtesy, legacy, or salute;
carry him like a scar all of your days.
Make excuses for every story, every light, and every flow
from the mouth of creation where there is still a glow
that shines through your dark dignity in the haze.
Look for him there on the river, see him again,
he’s dressed in a suit, wrapped in a black throated wind.
Offered up as the beast of the moment, caught in a frame.
Flatter him with stability until he goes back from where he came,
and loses himself between the valley and hill.
Look for him under the light of celebrity for a quarter of a hour,
the man of the minute, success personified, wielder of power;
the corpse of a creature too possessed to be killed
by blood, words, every sort of torture returning again.
Catch me and carry me away, black throated wind.
Friends die by the year, the day, move away, go to jail,
what’s left is encouraged to succeed, but expected to fail
at every task they assume, every goal they pursue.
Going a hundred miles a hour but ending up where we started
where we breathe like sufferers twisted and brokenhearted
disfigured by the recognition we were once drawn to.
But if I go down hard, I promise I’ll be back again
like a force unto myself, torn in a black throated wind.
Bid him passage with the chisel of tribute,
offer every form of courtesy, legacy, or salute;
carry him like a scar all of your days.
Make excuses for every story, every light, and every flow
from the mouth of creation where there is still a glow
that shines through your dark dignity in the haze.
Look for him there on the river, see him again,
he’s dressed in a suit, wrapped in a black throated wind.
Offered up as the beast of the moment, caught in a frame.
Flatter him with stability until he goes back from where he came,
and loses himself between the valley and hill.
Look for him under the light of celebrity for a quarter of a hour,
the man of the minute, success personified, wielder of power;
the corpse of a creature too possessed to be killed
by blood, words, every sort of torture returning again.
Catch me and carry me away, black throated wind.
Friends die by the year, the day, move away, go to jail,
what’s left is encouraged to succeed, but expected to fail
at every task they assume, every goal they pursue.
Going a hundred miles a hour but ending up where we started
where we breathe like sufferers twisted and brokenhearted
disfigured by the recognition we were once drawn to.
But if I go down hard, I promise I’ll be back again
like a force unto myself, torn in a black throated wind.