The Most Private Songs I Can Sing

by Cocoba

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When the basement is lacking a lightbulb, when the 10% chance of rain comes through, there’s a raccoon napping on the highway. When the Chilean wine is mostly water, when the family can no longer sit together, Full Metal Jacket is playing. There’s a group of adults on their smartphones in a public park on a Sunday right near a pond of newborn tadpoles who don’t know what’s going. They don’t know what’s going on, but neither do I. On a hike and preoccupied by Basho and the kind of irony that follows being in beauty but deferring to an expert. And the TV is trying to sell me some kind of meat that’s stuffed with cheese wrapped in bread that lacks any nutritional value. (Kind of makes you wanna go for a bike ride in the dead of January to see how) one of Russia’s greatest had tried to run away from life -- He tried to run away from life, but on the way died. When I see a single mother pushing a shopping cart of three screaming children, I now see what it must have been like.
Is Are 02:26
Is are the cardinals captured in two-forty pixels, blurred by the falling snow in the middle of March, over which there comes immense fawning and adoration the red in all that white Is sinks its teeth into a peach in Chile, juice running down to its chin its eyes close and it exhales nasally, heaving the joy of all that sweetness nasally living nasally being Is had been driving to work and back under late and early winter's moonlight, then hunched, napping over Dostoevsky, newly wine-beaten (an unforgiving atmosphere passed through with good resolve.) The red in all that sweetness The fruit adorned with frost winter’s only parting her wide smile cracked with salt
Have you ever stopped and seen the living rock? How something alive could seem such a stone How all of your blood could flow through a block. What good is your heart If you’re not its home? Then what does that make you? If you can’t help but wonder why your tongue is the place that can’t decide, and every noise it makes comes out like a lie, appearing half-hearted to either side of twenty-some bricks in your soul’s divide, while floating in sediment is life; then maybe the wall isn’t something you’ll find. But that does not allow you not to try to invent new words that help define what it means for you in your own time to feel liminal and alive. Who are you?


Just another shot at getting my slice of the ol' I-Tried Pie. Download it and read the accompanying booklet while you listen. (Bandcamp doesn't allow me to format the lyrics in the way I believe it should be.)


released January 4, 2018


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Cocoba New Jersey

A Real Tryer.

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