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Swan Neck

by La Morena

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1.
Zeus 01:40
out of the thinnest air true intimacy presented through the depth of your cells. the make up is essential and organic life lives within the touch of our skin. each carpel runs down the curve of our cages - hollow slivers separated by marrow - uncovering the genetic make-up of your strands. and the steady swaying current of your body’s fluids pulled by the moon. the symmetry of tear ducts speak up when ears meet stomach - listening to your innards humming bubbling gaseous eruptions, they weep and speak my name. and lashes talk back with wet bats upon your back. kisses. the cosmic interaction like the bend of faulty fingers upon your back and a hand to hold them in. swan neck. each tip composed of stale makings preserved with fleshy little hooks for touching. and life is only lived when the purest oils and sweat and skin are loved from within; unveiling the frail unity of our limbs.
2.
A Cold Rain 04:25
on this - the one way - the way that these things come - with little preparation and heavy instigation, thoughts that think they’ve seen better times and skies that whine like wicker, so fine caught a flame and set steady and able to begin to disintegrate. solace was a certain kind of sympathy that set this incinerating quality - among the trees. and layed asphalt over dirt roads - made streets meaner than i can be. and this morning it wasn’t green. it rained this morning - i smelled smoke expelling the warmth within - and this morning was grey and wet and i saw your face without sunlight. and and and the sight sunk in so straight solid deep in that i can’t even begin to begin to talk like i speak with tongue above chin, and a happy set of sockets shrinking to thin double grins. i see i see i see people spy with my skeptical spectacles, pigeons nearly never fly - usually nothing not even a cloud in the sky - but this morning i set foot into cold and dark and squeezed my crooked fingers cupping forearms tight - against my little - peanut brittle- person. and i looked up at faces with low brows beneath dark hair - stare so steep you’d slip crawling up that heap. a deterrent so deep - i can feel the strangers creep next to me - a delirium built on defense with the pretense of desperate poverty. and i can see the greasy walkways beneath my feet - brick stucco cement - the scent - nearly clean. and in to rain the gutters speak with watery squeaks - draining away the rusted rain and so and so i don't feel lonely but i feel alone in a full bus depot.
3.
i’ve got it in me yet - the minute hand patting backs and pushing its back up against my fatal idiom will get the best of a tightened tongue - bleeding gums all stuck like rusty tools that let themselves moisten under pressure - the stressful heat of a weekday with my steady tooth weighing the world’s weight in gold down enough to clamp a jaw shut - taut against the tile, hardwood floor (and so much more) foreshadowing a silence of frigid air to breathe. the seasons. “whats worse?” remarks have whimpered there way out a throat - a thought deep enough to depress and say “ahhh” soreness. hoarseness. inability to express ones over active cords - like you they will shred. like you, i will dread the impending denotation of every uttered sound scaled language and lean towards ambiguity. i will never understand a thing… you know what i mean? i remember when lips were free with excessive speech and inviting any type of notes from a rainy mouth of the river, but bottles were sparsely spoken… one ear to the tile, wooden floor (and more) it never happened and i coped and mended the meanings and tended the beds of flowery debenture, worded so sweetly - devoured and causing cavity to corrode deeper than the throat and pucker words sour at the core. so when speaking begins and i give in, a voice cracking call can’t lullaby any from before. but concisely secure my exposure once more and say hello, hows you? and things? (and more)
4.
the inevitable painstaking helplessness that arises when you see yourself confronted with alert eyes; well prepared for the most feared and obvious end… but you’re never really prepared - just warned - and waiting… and every time it alludes you - relief. but only enough to keep one eye ever vigilant on the next unforeseen expense at which may cost you the absolute inevitable. this is life. more concisely, my life. since early childhood - “god willing, i make it another year… god willing i’m still kicking” never a measure or plan made in advanced without the darkened reminder that we all die and the older; the sicker; the sadder, the more likely it can creep up and snatch you - so it seemed a presentation with the expression of reassured mortality - that a promise can be broken by the spirit expelled from the skin. and - best laid plans can go awry if we are laid to rest. but in all such early expectancy, i have found myself coddling the idea of your spirit gone and away from me with such sadness and fear that in my vigilance - though eyes are on every hour of life left in you - i have made each minute a mournful one… and worry stops me in my tracks so far off that i cannot enjoy the time we have left together without the constant thought of being without. and each time i choose to stay home instead of visit - i sulk in the guilt that i don’t have much time left - because every ‘next time’ i utter is just another ‘god willing’ waiting to be said.
5.
Schema 02:51
lines rise up from lips- and the look in your eyes, they sympathize. pass over your head, the hairs raise bare and wrinkle into smoke. thats air. a chemical component composed of the palest mist. push hands forward - grey ash waiting to be blown away - and palms laced with pain - an echo of clicks and we crumble to the sound. and even the feeling and the thought - its broken down into the simplest form. feel the killed bacteria within, can you? the misty fragrance of your teeth - a steam filled breath expressed beneath the shaded angles shaping your skin - in my sights - you're a carrier. the vessel - vehicle leading the lamb to its end - man slaughter. a concept traced by blurred figures and a science within exposing the dangers of our exchange - species or specimen? that mouth produces such glittering gradients and monochrome in sight- exceeding expectations of an expedited exchange with a silence traveling at the speed of sound. you couldn't make it out if i pounded on the drums in your ears. the smokey glow - vibrato undulating within - a shaken nothingness but the peaks of your cheeks speak worlds. can you hear them? pass warmth the length of worries my way - the ball and socket connections begin to shallow themselves - ex-spell the toughness and leave a spongy grid to soak up the chilly air. the base form warping like wood in humidity and a word slips from lips like sand through your fingers - soft and pigment-less, straight back down to become the elements again.
6.
fluid motions mirror the waves of oceans that drain us and rain upon us - structures refine actue struggles in a body. emotions. cells that reach from each to each. we are biology - you exist within- the innards that spittle and spill within every movement - and what does that make us? Eachother. the begining had begun to phase out and such a short while its been since light unfolded the primitive proteins and streched a helpful hand with golden fingers unfolding - supressing all immunity to live independently and take risks. solid - the massive molecules that make up dreams are sent out the window with a salty kiss - the taste of metal in your mouth. we are experimental. complications. injecting and rejecting the better half of our defense. there is enough tissue in your flesh to absorb the sadness - enough red and white blood cells to make you blue. enjoy the notes of the organ before the harvest begins - beating and breathing until ground sleeps.
7.
Este amor apasionado, anda todo alborotado , por volver. voy camino a la locura y aunque todo me tortura, se querer. Nos dejamos hace tiempo pero me llego el momento de perder tu tenías mucha razon, le hago caso al corazón y me muero por volver "Y volver volver, volver a tus brazos otra vez, llegaré hasta donde estés yo se perder,yo se perder, quiero volver, volver, volver." No vuelves porque no quieres!

about

Swan Neck is a series of poems recorded in the fall and winter of 2011 and early 2012. This album has served as my meditation and understanding of my physical self.

note: "Swan Neck" is a deformity caused by rheumatoid arthritis.

credits

released January 30, 2012

All poems written and spoken by Makayla Armijo.
All music composed by Makayla Armijo, bass and vocals are entirely original. The electric huming, chirping and bells were made using Electroplankton for NintendoDS.
Album artwork done by Makayla Armijo.

Special thanks to: Andrew Baxter, Nadine Armijo, Matthew Liam Healy, Phuong Phan - for your friendship, support and inspiration; for late nights full of conversation, trust and feedback - Thank You.


For Melvin Franklin and anyone else who has suffered or is suffering from Rheumatoid Arthritis and any other debilitating illness.

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La Morena New Mexico

La Morena is Makayla Armijo.
She is a Spoken word poet, artist and writer from Albuquerque, New Mexico.

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