See youself as you walk down. Seaweed gliding past the coast. Wring the blood out from your phone. Name your home and pull it close. Move your house above the flood. Climb the ladder to your door. Divine some future in the dry where ash and rain don’t coat our floors. I will not see my neighborhood. You’ll do what can’t be done. No high patience to protect. Reach out past the empty one. Hills will seep and gnash their teeth. The golden cave will wash away. Jewels will burn under our feet. The arch of glass will crack today. Watch yourself letting go. Any time: You’ll never know. I will not see my neighborhood. You’re down the Colorado, getting lost at every turn to meet the place you’re letting go. I will not see your neighborhood mesmerized by dams, shifting forward up the street until we cross into the sand. And the rivers will rush, needing more than they know, just the same. And the rivers will rush, needing more than they know, just the same. And the rivers will rush, needing more.
supported by 4 fans who also own “Sea Level Doomsday Forecast”
This is the album that has gotten me through the pandemic. It has provided peace when peace was nowhere else to be found. It has provided joy when joy was elusive. It has inspired gratitude when darkness and cynicism have crept in. Thank you Andrew. Polygondwanajams