(utopian wound)

corpse in a wishing well
fished out eyes
(skin on a skull full of memory)
her hands smelt like 2005
memory began in philosophy
an extinct hippocampus (memory) shorter than a giraffe

pain in the smarts
heart in the gun
art to the head
dead at the wheel
this is only a test
(which illusion to not live up to)
(which expectation to watch bleed out)
smarts in the gun
heart to the head
dead at the wheel
art to the head
(memories were farmers writing death-songs across myelinated land)
(looted heart)
(smarts to the head)
(cop in your art)
(same fugitive)
do foreign coins work in every wishing well
does every corpse speak the same language once it's corpse

born burnt, still burning, brightened in the shop, photo heart,
born, still birthing, mars never earthing, lifened in the shop, cropped out eye of corn, colonel in the call, three steps ahead of you, a head of you sits browning like lettuce in a bowl, a ball of my own throat, rattling its chains to make sound freaks out at the bottom of a well off drunk down dream, wishing on its last tossed out thought, many pennies in the well off styrofoam cup, many many lives for a piece of plastic, lucky enough to be born in oil, digging with a bread basket, born elastic, still adapting, washing in the stop-bath, gasket between us, kissing in a gas mask, training mechanical seals, on a manatee learning curve, singing with the school bell, swimming in an eighty-proof dress, parrot parents, church on each shoulder, shooing off the polish, dead flies in my folder, crashed planes and lab mice left clicking on a piece of pirated cheese, we chose to go blind in one eye because its the style, miles of receipt paper, thousands of parrot-feathers, the blue sky on my shoulders, when will they make a robot to cry for me, born in a snorkel, the first bird that knew it would climb out of the sea, conceived as an aftershock, never stopped firing (was the world trade center just a tremor) shoestring slingshot dropping 20(20) for the turkey in the cross-hairs, dead cheese drawing circles in the sugar for the press full of cheek void of any words, words watching their weight
this is a feather attempting to bird
smarts in the gun
heart to the head
cop in your art
(heart in the gun)
(art to the head)
(pain in the smarts)
(dead at the wheel)
(this is only a test)
(dear guilty head caught in another raid (or bear-trap)

we ride our dreams to sleep, the hardest horse to break, no shop for the amount i forgot, farm on my back, sipping from a broken glass, eyes mopping in the icing, clear blue sky on the meat-cutter, same mayonnaise clouds,
the first extinct ocean, the last archaeopteryx, atlantis was a swirling pile of plastic, the garden of easy to name brand names, born capital Be and or will till i'm not, practical knot in my stomach, every other emotion: cattle in a rope, doing an inventory of moons, the crater we worked our friendship into, trying to take off with the star stuff we were made of,
i made it to the first cloud (that looked like a basket of fruit) and slipped
the next few days i was rain
the same penny falling every time
a bank in a flood

i give you my eyes
on stand by
and wait


from You Were Murdered As A Kid, released September 30, 2011
produced by Frietboer
lyrics and vocals by Brad Hamers



all rights reserved


Dust On Snow (Brad Hamers & Frietboer) Netherlands

Dust On Snow is a collaborative musical project, an agitated and frothing monster created by poet, musician and collage artist, Brad Hamers and beat-maker/producer, Frietboer. On this 8 track debut EP, Brad Hamers (Phlegm, Two Ton Sloth, New Police) provides the words and Frietboer (Frietboerism 1/5, Fiks, Fris & Dood) supplies the beats. ... more

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