These birds are eyeing me.
Born of the ash, they spread their wings.
It's been said no man has ever seen
them convene.
I couldn't live there,
There wasn't enough air in that room.
I would have died there,
in that spackled tomb.
Smoke rose. I was spared.
Severed body walking.
No apetite.
Not dead but not alive.
Just a stomach rotting
with every swallowed pill.
Normal can be prescribed.
I don't want to live there.
There isn't enough air in that room.
I don't want to die there,
my worst thoughts removed.
I'll meet my own stare.
In a room painted white,
paranoia ran it's course.
It wasn't always explicit fright,
but there were locks on every door.
Once when I ventured outside,
it was a routine commute,
something snapped, was sure that I
wouldn't last the afternoon.
Then at dusk, I cycled home
clutching a bottle full of pills.
Took one every day for weeks
A static mind was such a thrill.
But as the weeks turned into months,
to my distress, I could not express my
thoughts through rhyme or be compelled to fight for
the truth, my light source.
Temporary, I'm sure.
The locks on all my doors.
Those relics. Those eye-sores.
No source of my plight, sure,
but it's not right course.
I'd rather incite wars
than have nothing to fight for.
I'll scream until I'm hoarse.
credits
from Detachment,
released December 16, 2017
All strings arranged and performed by David Keller.
A collaborative ode to the mythology and culture of the Czech Republic, pairing meditative poetry with menacing sounds. Bandcamp New & Notable Jan 12, 2022
Portland's Dao Strom describes her work as "song poems," gorgeously layered dark ambient folk soundscapes with a heavy sense of foreboding. Bandcamp New & Notable Oct 6, 2020