Glass Birds from & (imaginary) Friends by Enoch Robinson

come on over the cliff side
there is so much here to see
you've been too long at the bedside
curled up on top of your feet
climb on up to the rafters
we can hang over the ground
and if you're feeling like talking
we can pour the earth from our mouths

you say you think
that under your skin are
your grandmother's bones
hooked up to wire and strings
you say you have this growing suspicion
that the bones in your limbs are
still searching for a home

there are glass birds cutting through the light
a man sells violets in the street
there is Sophie
she climbs the mantelpiece

lead me along by my shirtsleeves
bring me blind to the shore
I miss the milk and the honey
dip me by my ankles into the waves
I wanna be dark and dripping
I wanna be like the flood
sweeping away
all the cars and the buildings
drown it all in the green-blue mess of the sea
(oh how the woodwork washes right off,
like watercolor)

sometimes a day is like a singing machine
syncopated but sweet
pulsing and pushing along
somethings a day is like the foam of the sea
washing over my feet
restless at the edge of the world

but I find that most days are like a circus
marvelous and bizarre
and at the end of the evening
it packs up and moves on

• Folk
• folk-ish
• homerecording
• indie folk
• words
• New York