phil-elverum

Death is real.
Someone’s there and then they’re not
and it’s not for singing about.
It’s not for making into art.
When real death enters the house
all poetry is dumb.
When I walk in
to the room where you were
and look into
the emptiness instead
all fails.
My knees fail.
My brain fails.
Words fail.
Crusted with tears, catatonic and raw, I go downstairs and outside and you still get mail.
A week after you died a package with your name on it came and inside was a gift for our daughter you had ordered in secret and collapsed there on the front steps I wailed.
A backpack for when she goes to school a couple years from now. You were thinking ahead to a future you must have known deep down would not include you though you clawed at the cliff you were sliding down, being swallowed into a silence that is bottomless and real.
It’s dumb
and I don’t want to learn anything from this.
I love you.

Moon Sequel
Mount Eerie
Moon Sequel

“I tell em about you, and how you’re gone, you’re gone, you’re gone, you’re gone, you’re gone, you’re gone, you’re gone, you’re gone, you’re gone, you’re gone, you’re gone, you’re gone, you’re gone, you’re gone, you’re gone, you’re gone, you’re gone, you’re gone, you’re gone.”

My Roots Are Strong and Deep
The Microphones
My Roots Are Strong and Deep

my roots are strong and deep/i’m swaying in your breeze
my limbs stretch out to meet you/you’ve got me on my knees
i stand tall/my feet are on the ground
but compared to you i’m small/the things you need you just surround
you rocked around the earth/you circle it with air
you’re trapped inside the core/with hot lava hair
i wish you could sprout, but you can’t stick your neck out
i want you climbing up my limbs, but i’m just stumped by your whims