Tiny Pastures

by Boston Cream Party

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about

If a pasture is left fallow for too long, it becomes a desert, a prairie, a forest. If it grows too large, it becomes a range and many people contend the right to pass through. Pastures, like time, are meant to be used.

This album celebrates the seventh reincarnation of Ryan Sarno, in a tiny pasture, out of a guitar hole. Upon exit, I shook hands with Robert Schumann like nestling swans after unbinding my fingers of copper bonsai wire, and left pains widowed as April is in August. I am grateful to the people who permitted me to steal their instruments and record their elastic walls.

credits

released September 9, 2011

Guitars, instruments - RS
Voices - Megan Conlon, Samuel Diaz, RS
Art - Melissa Kelly

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Ananalog Minneapolis, Minnesota

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Track Name: Tiger City
I threw my head between my knees,
mortified by the tiger city roar,
only to find its kittens dead
asleep in a box by my back door.
Track Name: Devil Matsu's Suicide Poem
The suicide poem of Devil Matsu

No regrets have I in this world.
I wish I had not failed.

In love with a farmer's daughter,
I could never be a farmer.

You may sketch'er, or
bury your hand in'er
and wail for sympathy,
singing to seventeen faces -

When a full moon
makes plain a dell,
close your eyes make love
or go to hell.

Knees up in a beach
ball buoyant crowd, I smoked
after I was shot in the head
by the smell of a man.

It took months before
I was comfortable
enough to ignore
a train's calls, hearing instead -

When a full moon
makes plain a dell,
close your eyes make love
or go to hell.
Track Name: Unneeded Flowers, pt. 2
To grow as unneeded flowers,
left to thrive by the side of the road,
bright and unseen in nobody's row,
remaining untrampled for hours.
Track Name: Rotten Windows
The kitchen sink is literally the only friend I've got back home.
I sit and think slowly about it but the distance in me grows.

I know I've got to get back to the state where I was born,
got to get back before the frail earth perishes in a storm.

She's waiting for me, the patchwork, scarecrow girl.
I doubt she keeps me in her diary, but she says I figure brightly in her world.

The fear of being run off the road by a rhino city bus
keeps me from hustling the streets, sticking my neck out on the cusp

of a safe future, and paying everywhere we go.
There's no time out from the bus lanes amongst there and to and fro.

I'm most afraid of dying on the days when I am frail,
and I've been afraid most everyday since my legs began to fail.

My teeth are broken down from chewing shame,
my neck is stiff from staring out that rotten window frame.

I've been pawing from recognition now for almost seven years,
questions and effort fall short of finding me peers.

I'm set now on living and adopting a shelter dog,
settling with guts and bronze and pinching my nose up in the fog.