io.

Part 3 of The 21 Malaise Planes

This morning I feel transfigured after a week spent in Rhode Island crafting, recording and riding the line of danger as we push ourselves and the song as far as we can before toppling over. I feel certain in the eternity of Art. This week was with the band, but I frequently live the art life in solitary. I don’t mind it because I know it is my destiny.

Wordsworth touches on this in his poem I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud. The golden bliss-bringers stretch along the bay for seemingly eternity and, later in solitude, flash their bodies upon the inward eye.

Wordsworth writes positively about the solitude of the poet, and the psychic connection between humanity and nature. I’m grateful to always have this inner voice of art. At times it is my only true home.

Please enjoy part 3 of The 21 Malaise Planes below. And a photo of me and goat, one of earths most mystic creatures

io.

Future sees in typewrite noir

And jots the rhythms brazen string

Of the poet who shall be free

What eternity, if young at all,

Melts away in true love's eyes

Wine or water’s dismal nitch

Cannot tame our bed’s of prayer

More than tangled locks of hair—

Tomorrow is a long time