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Pressing Planetoidal Perambulations

from Expeditionary Twitch (2017) by John Elmquist's HardArt groop

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lyrics

After bathing in waves of radio,
toweled and marbles scooped,
strap on the chaps, hike up the boots,
be off for the summit
to set some spatial roots.
Gripping ripples and wrinkles,
grabbing crumples and crinkles,
make a beeline for every line -
tree, hair and hem, until up stops being up.
Walk the walk, rock to rock, block by block,
a walk around a world of worlds
cross, step and stomp
on every crack-assed crevasse.
Virgo hots the spots
and Libra chills the rocks,
Pop Space Rocks Hop Scotch Skip,
Skip Smooth Stone on Pond.
I find that though I just want sex with Saturn,
I want to make a moon with Mars,
but without repeating the familiar pattern
of burning my buns with stools of stars.
And the whole world spins and walks away,
taking all the wobble with it,
climbing out of its mind.
And we all just turn our backs,
getting smaller in the rear view,
climbing out of our minds.
Where to can't be known
(a where...some or any).
What to want: to get closer than most.
Is it just more hill?
or will there be every zombie plane ever?
wayward, wandering...
finding those phantom legs and arms,
riding shotgun in cars of muscle
and on bikes of dirt.
You'll find the most of the trains of ghost.
What's under the rocks that are your bed?
Trucks of monster, underfed.
So, duly stoked and stoned by ites
and rocked by oids,
we march with purpose, with precision,
looking for order, direction and decision,
walking away from easy fights,
live to lefts and dead to rights,
to sniff and sneak and track and seek.
Overall, we made quite a nice little parade,
crossing fields of magnet, clouds of gravel.
Keep the stride tight,
strut, truck, shuffle,
some amble, some scramble,
a little shimmy, skedaddle and scoot,
boot by boot, toes of steel
with an iron heel. Stick spur to moment,
step, stop, step, stop, step, stop.
Stride for stride, hand in hand,
and side by side,
click heel to toe to tip to tap.
We glode and strode,
the search was a party
with the stress on tense pride,
hunting, pecking,
the idea being to follow a feeling forever.
Mopes were laying back where it all began,
lying around, lying about each little thing.
And so we bounced from sol to sol,
sticking our noses in each nest,
right where they longed to belong.

credits

from Expeditionary Twitch (2017), released August 5, 2017

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John Elmquist's HardArt groop Chicago, Illinois

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