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It Either Breaks Or It Doesn't.

by Museum Legs

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1.
In the soupy mist of heaven That we already have lived in Is it fair to say that we were ours? Gaze into a mirror mocking Every action you conceive of Rehearse a line you might repeat. Weave your fingers with a persons You might have might just recently And say alone out loud "it is real." Is it real? When you step up on a vessel With no option of operating, Recline, it either breaks or it doesn't. Arrive alone in some damn station, Who knows someone, anybody, That knows someone with a will and drive. Come and get me, come and scoop me, Open every door that blocks me, Defending her odd wrongs felt right. Is it right? Whole lives flashed before our little Cameras that capture the frames Passing as moments in our eyes. She and I were Double Helix; Completing every twist and focus That makes spiral staircase escalate. She and I were Double Helix; Connecting all the spades and trenches Making lattice latter climb a point. What's the point? Growing old and aching combined In one thing like two legs of jeans As the waste makes it a pair. Orthopedic shoes are something That I think you would look nice in If I can hold out to see you wear 'em. Not worried about the ancient ruins Our souls reside in, It Either Breaks or It Doesn't. Does it?
2.
If wooden things are olden And a saw brings their dust, And dunking chains of golden Into water grows their rust, Then breaking's not a reason Not to put a thing together That's Life, Anyway. Caution is not a ball-roller But it's soothed in practice. Unless, each and all tomorrows Bring unwillingness to change. So design all the instructions Knowing some materials breathe. That's Life, Anyway. Like we feel fatter in the winter Cooped up in our trough of broth. Looking good for one another, An easy goal of no weight loss. And yes, the body it is breaking And the skin is growing moss. Youth is poor wish making, Waisting away is the purpose and the cause. That's Life, Anyway.
3.
There was a movement Explained in nimble grace With other bodies in prime Especially mine , I was a dancer this time I was a dancer this time There was a moment, Colors intertwined Upon a canvas, Especially mine I I was a painter this time I was a painter this time There was a novel, Summed up existence For generations, Especially mine I was a writer this time I was a writer this time it was important to me it was important to me A stack of lines Encased everything Of human time, Especially mine I was a poet this time I was a poet this time A note made quiver, Perfect frequency Ejected between lips, Especially mine I was singer this time I was singer this time An orchestra rang Humans' harmony At the tip of baton, Especially mine I was a maestro this time I was a maestro this time It was important to me It was important to me There was a battle, Unending and unfair, Over bodies, Especially mine I was a woman this time I was a woman this time There was a person Born unto this earth, They had eyes and strength, Especially mine I was a mother this time i was a mother this time It was important to me It was important to me
4.
In low light I try to decide When to cut the rope Tethered to you That loops and winds, Snakes the scapes That spread the seas. It knows the turns, Rehearsed these aisles Bread-crumbing to me. It is laid With importance Through this city, All along the beat up street Which we chose. It lays Limp on the staircase, Creeps 'neath the doorway. Leaving all light in the hallway Wrapping itself at my feet. It is tied with might from a sailer Tight 'round my ankle And pulls or tugs when you budge. In a will of a resuscitation When will you cut me loose? Life like a young girl abbreviating Whole words she once wrote. Like an Aircraft Carrier's tight with rope To a wooden post. Lifting and launching little soldeirs Doing a bidding. Little bombing. Little lifeboat. Little life-calling. Diving and delving into a person Like drinking oceans. Pressure rising, Pressurizing, Precious rope breaking. In this light I try to decide When to cut the rope, And let the Aircraft Carrier go And float on her own.
5.
When something offends An entire race of people, Try something like compassion, Agreeing's hard-forward-moving. So please, support the progress of humanity. And you know why, Don't act like Fucking little kid With no options. How long have wars never solved Believing in diffrent gods? Alternate Your style of warfare, Carpet bomb some gifts. Confuse the ones who hate you, Respond in a different way. And you know why, Don't act like Fucking teenager Against the whole world. Religion and faith, they're ok, It's Believe, that's the problem. When you believe your like concrete, Unmovable, unteachable. And Change, worse than death You can't accept People living anyway they please. And you know why, Don't act like Racist asshole With a flagpole. Just live your life And don't hurt people you don't understand.
6.
Cold Grease. 06:15
The question raised Then you sky-dived your eyes As we broke Not unlike the way grease dries. Overcame In a plot without surprise. Sustained As reverb in an X's ties. Can't put away those years Like discarded tires. Shove off, set sail, cut rope, Let your engine work your float Over the states, the meat, Forty-eight wrenches one machine. Like cold grease Just needs some heat. Can't help Seeing coincidence as tape. Being shook Violently off a finger of fate. With her hand On an ornate Remote control Pressing anything. As she stares at your Shape from the inside Of a window used As a passing mirror. Like flashing lights To an epileptic deer. Check yourself out, Invent some compliments. Like any machines gears Needs a little grease. This cold grease ain't trash It just needs some heat. O, this cold grease Just needs some Heat.
7.
Shit was good In our little walls With no choice But the other Or to go out Alone Or together. Endure and Create our own sentence. Sit was good in that asylum. 'Till one breaks. Had our spots On a couch and in a bed. Sole to sole Bicycle motion To the motion picture in the back Like the window of down time. Then sole to mid-foot In the air conditioned sleep. Home cooking on Tuesday, Where we lost and found the libido. Shit was good In our sentence, 'Till one breaks the letters. When your Times up you need release. Add two dots To our period.. Then my hands Put your stuff on the curb, Put it out with you. My shit-van took it all away from here. Dipped the pen In the ink of love song. It was good to feel that cursive. 'Till one breaks the letters. What's this time With the loop without the tail. Need new lines To guide the tails direction. When you trace All it's pretty pretty curves, Realize It only ends if you don't connect it. Say goodbye To my T's to my I's. It was good. 'Till one breaks the letters down. 'Till one breaks the letters down, Own their own they're just shapes They don't know what they're spelling. 'Till one breaks the letters down, The loop grabs the first tail It can feel in motion. 'Till one breaks the letters down, Which puts down an airy sentence Worth not repeating. 'Till one breaks the letters Just some slang on a page With poor punctuation. 'Till one breaks the letters down, Own their own they're just shapes They don't know what they're spelling. 'Till one breaks the letters Just some slang on a page With poor punctuation.
8.
Hear it crack In the only place it can't To keep its functioning intact And roll out it's product While you wait To see if it preforms its task Properly and timely Like the manual picture. It's broke, Like two people paint new eyes On the lids of the other Like who's behind is a bother. I go home Knowing nothing can be done 'Till the part that was ordered Arrives in its cardboard borders. I entered There you were all asleep Like some famous photograph And me visiting its museum And your weight And working and bending limbs A machine rightly functioning With timing and grace Which tuned out The sound of the frantic whips Demanding faster of the pulse That moves the ship So thanks For this reminder of life More than gears and steel, Of breath, inside jokes and strokes So thanks For this reminder of life Which breaks Or Doesn't Or Breaks Or Doesn't.

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Release Control.

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released August 31, 2019

Written, Preformed, and Recorded by Penn Sultan in Providence, RI. MorganEve Swain- Vocals, Viola.

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Museum Legs Providence, Rhode Island

Penn Sultan
MorganEve Swain

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