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The Sun Is a Brown Penny Smudged Across the Sky Under God's Thumb

from Organs by Spiral Ganglion

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In the trees, birds rise at the crack of dawn to yap and yawn and irk my dog. In my bed, my legs twisted in the sheets and still asleep, good morning. In my mind I've said, "I'm not getting up," and punch the clock, and fuck right off. In the sky, the sun beaming down on me, a copper sheen, a brown penny. The trees flutter in the breeze, so painterly, so quaint, and in space the sun is bright, and I can get some peace and quiet. One. Excused for lunch, I would eat but for, the thought of it, turns my stomach. Muselin cut itself up for drey, and I, a torn ribbon, a bow hair frayed. It's not cloudy. It's consternated. It's not overcast. It's saturated. It's not obvious. It's obfuscated. It's not clever. It's complicated. It's contemplated. Should have stayed in bed, but I'm here instead. Wishing I were out at night. This day can just write-off.

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from Organs, released October 10, 2015

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Spiral Ganglion Alberta

For ten years, Ivan Reese recorded one second of music for every ninety-one seconds of his life. Here's some of it.

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