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Smell the Sun

by The Good Hard

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her haute is in the loam n she fuk like a foal i cdn't catch her name so it hit me now i jag to pollenize her lode. she wombed me with her beet til i chukt up her sleech. she never been to bane cuz she throe tea like they gro along the cliffs of sleep. elemation unsubdued impetess of planetude teem yr vainquishings allude gona sweat u smoke for hire set yr yoke on fire but i wet u mine my slime n stik it on the dime n i bet u our luv dispel that shithed smell O yr dying for a drink yr flux is in yr drink yr innermost's a drink yr blithering a drink yr dust without a drink O mother man stoke yr of-er gland n smote this plundersham O her sump is up my tung n i spunk out her cunt my sust is all she shed like a mud bee ruckin deep into the smuk she spun she feeds my jumpy freak from the lips of her teet blood udder in my hed touchy think drip i'm a sponge can only breathe yr reef u r nower to be ground property's yr hand-me-round of our deference u redound gonna kind u hub my thrust in yr flockin lush til i find u flashin ass at the protoclast then i sign u all my cut to gut the glut O yr fighting for a joke yr choking on a joke yr jerking off a joke yr sad cuz yr a joke yr joke is not a joke O steader seed goad yr deader breed to globe a spreader we'd O her flame is in yr brain n she burn to arraign.
i wana be a woman. sea-shel colections ain’t the sea. and distraction is a poet’s best frend. i ota noe, but I don’t noe y. i beleve in a pain that isn’t pain as I wander endles thru my mama’s hair. life is hangin up on a helthy prospect, but it’l cal bak if u’r a woman. to noe I made the child, to feel that sister thing, to hear myself in secrets, to luv bewildering, to be given away to a rich and brutal man, my king of rage and candy wen I’m a woman. if I can invert my frazes for wit, maybe I can faze my wit thru inversion. O to lose my opresiv rigor in the sweet embrace of my unnoen fears! i’m set to get fixt and lose my temper. the beach’l be a whole difrent experiens. wut’s so extreme about bein extremist? me, I wana be god, aka woman. to rile with my beauty, to paint my litl toe, to take it from behind, to weep away my woe, to liv in other’s eys, to snare the thing I shun, al craving my expozur wen I’m a woman. ok, so my body is my templ. problem bein, I’m an atheist who despises clasic arkitectur. my place of worship is the futur. sumtimes our blemish is our blessing, or it can be for a hiden fee. wen I grow up I’m gona be a ded man. til then I’m livin like a woman. to be soft and curvy, to play beyond the pun, to face my foe with pity, to laf away the gun, to be forbid the field wer deth defines the man, the mor I bleed, the mor I breed, wen I’m a woman.
is ther a need in my eye? am i the star of the frozen play? how's this for suicide? ain't i free if it duzn't pay? and the winner is debris? do i look like a better place? shd i fail to feel pristine? will u hold me wen i'm all ablaze? i don't mean to lay yr inlet on the line but u shd hav a glass of runnin outta time so u can bild yr smess a pretty litl shrine wer i'll fuk it out of yr body so u can rest yr hed about it, honey. n we'll roll up the dud n we'll bounce with a thud in our one of a kinda luv. cd u leve me half alone? is ther too much no in my nod? did u just put me on metronome? how u like the shit i'm on? do i lak for incident? shd we go more unaligned? wut's yr thing with wut u ment? nuthin's steeper than the floor i've climbed. maybe step it bak from alredy off the ledge strum yr new best frend wile i fix a tasty spred then we'll squeez our thx out the water and the bred as i fuk it into yr body so u can rest yr hed about it, honey. n we'll punk all the grudge til we bask in the budge of our one of a kinda luv. we don't got room for room we don't got. our lot ain't squat but the plot we sought. so run yr doves thru my gills n let my wolves take yr hills. wish i nu how to lose the teethe keeps my soothin a-hurtin u, baby. wish i nu how to disbeleve yr the shush that can finally say me. sumthin tells me i can't hear anything but the song i'm stuk on. sumthin tells me i can't fear anything but the spawn i suk on. how 'bout we settle down n hit the hungry hive, in the sticky sweet we'll drown til we're alive, n if we get stung it'll only make us wise how to fuckin be in our bodies wen our heds r hookt on our honies. n we'll noe wer to thrust so we clone wut we crush with our one of a kinda luv. wee woo wo.
u noe wut peace is, misses pieces? the fallen marble head, formerly deranged? animals in edibles, warmly estranged? new metabolic modalities, half out of range? unstoried longings held in throng, u gotta let go to get along, cuz when u imperil the folkloric glare there’s just so much barely there. like an underweight balloon with a miraculous rack mocking industrial lag, yr not yr mom cuz yr camera’s yr dad. this is the world that men commit n yr disastrously unfinisht business, a healthy, assenting resistance to the perfect outfit of california lighting tools packaged in resizable amateur overpaid ridicule. duzn’t the lexicon machine streaming between yr legs how the psychotropic sexy bums but never begs show desire is running out of ideas because they’re on fire? yr so hot u’ll burn hell, that blushing pit wer men who know thr mutations sicken children go to cry n shoot thr colonel, but this never wanting to figure into wut yr figure’s about is hard to figure out, even for u, but nobody gets wut u do, tho we apparently all die from it. sampled applause, cue moebius clit. that elegant shamble of an unsold pose fills yr fighting lens with the transparent crowd who feel yr not that pretty til u get yr nose ground in the shitty scramble of creep n cleanse. if only we cd open our hearts to yr transient keepsake without first stuffing them with our second birthday cakes. staring as if newly washed ashore from a biological clock fail, the humble agrarian in yr boring cocktail gives u the shrugs so spacious u look like a rising star on outdated drugs. other girls have better everything except a sadder way of noticing. u’ve touched yrself up into the impatient iconic: how will u ever get representation if u hate captivity in the constant topic? ain’t it just like snow white to weigh dicks wen all they’re doin is tryin to dump thr diet? part fondle, part frisk, like a dreidel that won’t drop until it’s gelt, yr so wut’s that word? as the snake sed to the bird: i’m groping for a more grounded spot wence i can peel myself open n reveal the frenetic in my system whose aesthetic is best described as not. privacy is invasion so yr an absence artist. i shall call yr unreachable raw materials perfection, that super social sardonic brand with periodic bouts of torture via reflection on demand. so welcome to the nature center, misses pieces. please germinate alone with the curator of unmastered releases that u own our unknown. i ruin the party i run i reach for u simply to stun i live for the caring i shun i ruin the party i run i squander the wonder i won i don't taste the doom til i'm dun i’d kill to weigh in at a ton i squander the wonder i won suppuration intubation arrogation population castellation liberation ostentation occupation extirpation veneration desecration renovation spiflication simulation vegetation tenebration lamentation germination generation live cremation wen will this be home?
She My Music 05:13
wen i wuz yung n creepy for freebies i fug'd my yuks on the hop-slop cheapies wow, it did me in then i found they don't make luv to go ya gotta stand around if u wana noe how to man a kin so now i'm her music wana feel rain'd out wana keel yr spout wana squeal out yr snout woo woo wen i wuz old n woozy for wuzzies i rapt my pap in the first-burst snuggies ow, it chappt my hind but there's no hugs in the has-been hanker n yr the one getn prikt if ya prank yr vow to pork yr pine so i'm still her music wana be yr bruiser wana ghee yr oozer wana retransfuse ya woo woo wen i dremt of my myth-kisst sweety i kept her coopt in the dunge of my dote-bloat brow, an unmade bid then a nite i herd her singin needy for that seekin space wer yr wings don't cow, so i flippt the lid n now i'm her music wana mean hooky lik wana stream wen u clik wana scream til i kik woo woo
tend wel the dautrs for days un-numberd, smiles unencumberd shine on the dautrs. let them wunder freely of worlds deep within them, hold ther hands ungainly that no fear rescind them. hew them homes in al wethrs, toss them not thru the nethrs, wok them gently cros the watrs, our best mothrs mix these dautrs. hold thy dautrs thru the slotrs less ther bothrs make no othrs. share them stories of the lost and lonely, teach their souls to love them for their lovin’ only. send thy dautrs to lands unloggered, wealth unmaugured heft on the dautrs. help them trust outrightly all that confounds them that ther narls nitely may unbound them.
yo, sik it out, i'm a failure sho me no go n i'll trail her best shot's a target for my misfire gung ho self snuff comical, esquire u tried to drain my doozy chamomile wanderoo albright floozy ship u a wreck n u'll sail her how's it feel goin down on a failure? u didn't have to helm my hailstorm u didn't have to lift my kilt u didn't have to dance my cruciform u didn't have to milk my milt but u smell the sun in me ape trap, smog pomp, fetal rage, bridegloom i snarf rivulets like a pentateuch craccoon brik-dikt benzene splattermask oversoul my trikt-out luxury tank roadhoggd yr blowhole now we do fukitupasana one propeller, two palama it's like the waive of the suture bitch kills wutever cutes her u didn't have to buy my forgery u didn't have to hug my torch u didn't have to mirror my malady u didn't have to stud my corpse but u smell the sun in me freedom's al how u fuk gun ain't paid shit but i demand a refund sho me my bomb n i'll bail her so fun livin off a failure i wana clear the air i wana lap the dew i wana share my share i wana smell like u tell me everything u noe n i'll be everything u don't.
My City Now 03:18
i am falling away from this world. i am falling away from this world. u r calling me bak to u, girl. but I am falling away from this world. who took the trip from this place n chased it into my lip now forsook of exterior like wrecks of here don't noe how to go wer they mite denote the rite disrepair for finding a way to persist without unbinding devout from abjure til the grab duzn't pay cuz the seafront we kill haks a chunk of our free traks round sour and junkt leading blot to abound in the service of not feeding necropolis wut we ota protect so ravage duzn't devive slime we gotta lavish with the time of our life? gotta wait on the willo. u r crawling into the fire. u r crawling into the fire. i am calling you bak to me, child. but u r crawling into the fire. who put yr face on the brakes so'f I try to bate the race I fuk yr looks with my pussyfoot then u get pushy n flex yr waste til I vet my sex of the thrill it took to suk my mind cross the bottom-line so I could savor the overcum loss of another form of behavior from the same-storm that leaves a lover lame cuz his seeds maim a truer quorum on costs we incur wen we blur the fist into a wrist so the tit we twist can't be misst cuz it don't exist 'cept as inept at planting wuz we won't? gotta wait on the willo. lookin for the crak in dependency wer you been dumpin in it all yr obedience to voracity for jumpin smak in yr shit hopin I can hak yr infertility with my germinant precipitator so all the wrak stuk up yr autonomy pops out my suppliant denominator sproutin yr post-forgottn proclivity into a past unparagoned by natural incompatibility so u can get yr chimeric on n orphic with mutual originality we'll roll the gamut of a catchall-begotten sentimentality out our incunabular qua. we r sprawling our stain with a shrug. we r sprawling our stain with a shrug. she is calling us bak to her luv. but we r sprawling our stain with a shrug. giv it up now. liv it up now. pak it up now. pik it up now. tell me y yr alive tell me y yr a lie


Recorded at The Home Of in Bklyn unless otherwise indicated. One of a Kinda Luv: Kaylin Lee Clinton (vox) and Andrei Sebastian (solo guitar); Misses Pieces: Frank Gratkowski (sax); Outermost Mouthwash, One of a Kinda Luv, Smell the Sun: produced & arranged by John Gideon, recorded and mixed at Poe Studios, NYC; Wait on the Willow, She My Music and I Ruin: produced & arranged by John Gideon, recorded at Poe Studios, NYC; Wait on the Willow: John McConnel (lead guitar), Kaylin Lee Clinton (vox); Tend Well the Dautrs: music written by Jessica Grace Wing, drums and percussion by John Gideon; My City Now: Sandstar (piano); some vocals and other instruments by Sandstar. Lots of instruments throughout by John Gideon. All other instruments, voices, and songwriting by Kirk Wood Bromley. Mastered by Kevin Blackler.


released March 23, 2015


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The Good Hard

The Good Hard is playwright, poet, and musician Kirk Wood Bromley's band featuring players and producers in NYC and Arizona. Email the "Contact The Good Hard" link below if you wanna talk.

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