Tag Archives: music

Poem: “Threshold” (2009)

From the far room,
a figure with many faces

into the hall—

forgets, for a moment,
the place of doors.

	many colored,
	bead with sweat.

	fumble for edges
	in the kaleidoscope:
in shifting light.

		This one
		does not want
		to be found.

Thick air:
footfalls in puddles

when breath was all—

before the ceiling
rose, upwelling,

	from the floor—

before the earth
into rooms;


The dog, curled with her ball, waits for variation in the man curled by the door. Whiskers wick moisture from air. She breathes in rhythm, water dripping; voices in the vent. Eyes intent. A shift in the light. Front paws become palms. She stands; glides across the room; grasps his shoulders. Shakes him. Speaks: “Why are you bent to the shape of the doorway, pressed to the threshold, praying, when you and I could be playing?” The dog, curled with her ball, waits for variation in the man curled by the door. Whiskers wick moisture from air.
She has not touched a moment in days. Gaunt. Paper skin. She sits at the table. Images assess bones, angles. Melting ice seeps from the refrigerator, spreads across the floor. Touches her toe, tickles a memory— another room. She brought language. He brought colores, spoke in broken Spanish. She painted flores. Thin muscles tighten with resolve. She stands, shuffles across the floor— water soaks her soles— opens the door— more supple skin bends with her steps— clasps a hand.
The air— humid with child. Two melodies intertwine— improvise a whisper: arms that will need to learn to hold, hands that will need to learn to let go. A breath cools their bodies.
Drip. Drip. Drops fall past blue drapes; open window, yellow petals, green stems. Strike the soil. Split. Smaller droplets cling to the surface, then seep toward roots. He reaches, pinches a stem. Breaks the flow. Places the flower behind his daughter’s beaming ear. “Beautiful,” he says. She smiles.

Published as lyrics for GODHEADSCOPE’s Threshold LP, 2009.

Poem: “Solidarity” (2011)

Open up
your ruined house.
Fear not for God.
The poem is my pocket.

The fiber fragment,
folded tight:
tucked into a secret,
always moving.

Behind the seam,
this inner lining,
I smuggle hope
beyond debris.

My fingers pinch
the promise firm.
I press tomorrow:
shelter in your palm.

We read aloud,
breathe into rubble.
We read aloud,
Our ruin now

a temple.

Published as lyrics for GODHEADSCOPE’s Patience EP, 2011. Spurred by Czesław Miłosz’s essay “Ruins and Poetry.”

Poem: “A Moth Blending Into Walls” (2005)

Bouncing around the light,
space bends and beckons
toward a dark end
with wings become singed.

She flew in through the hallway;
circled twice around the room.
A strange fear did set in,
and she darted to the wall.

Through eyes upon her wings,
she surveyed her locale,
abdomen pressed close to stone,
leaving dusty marks not seen.

Through eyes upon her wings,
she watched as another entered:
a fly possessed of purpose,
unfolding space toward the light.

From her mark upon the wall,
her wings did see a spark:
the fly cascaded downward
in a slight pillar of ash.

The moth clung tighter to her mark
and closed her eyes, averted her gaze
from the center: the irresistible gravity
of the spider in the light.

Published as lyrics for Matt Rosin and the Dead Raven Choir’s Fire Mouth collaborative LP.

Welcome, music

In the interest of living a less-divided creative life, I’ll now provide updates and information related to my musical work — including the GODHEADSCOPE and Cindervoice projects — via matthewsrosin.com and associated social media.

My writing and musical lives have never been alien from each other in practice, as the “Poetry/Lyrics” feature on this blog attests. Now, all of my creative output will be represented in one place.

To celebrate, here’s “Dusk On Glass,” from GODHEADSCOPE’s 2007 album, A City Out of Sight.