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Poetry of Todd Cecil
http://tcnotebook.blogspot.com/2008/05/road-moved-under-us-loosing-past-pass.html
Poetry of Todd Cecil. Friday, May 23, 2008. The Road moved under us. We kept the sunlight. Driving into the earth. Your sun dress,. And a sun tan. This is the poem that inspired this song and video. Todd Cecil - www.slidesong.blogspot.com. The Road moved under us Loosing the past pass the . Todd Cecil - www.slidesong.blogspot.com. Musician, Artist, Songwriter www.toddcecil.com. View my complete profile. Simple template. Template images by Nic Taylor.
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Poetry of Todd Cecil: The Blue Cup
http://tcnotebook.blogspot.com/2008/05/blue-cup.html
Poetry of Todd Cecil. Thursday, May 22, 2008. I get these thoughts in angles. When he’s driving. The blue plastic cup rattled on the dash. Everything is solid now and hard. And even the radio has a spine. His life is what we’re driving around. And I remember his face. The last time I saw where we’re driving to. He has learned to sleep beside what doesn’t love him,. Curled up in a ball, forcing out sex and youth. Around an hour now gone and this is life. With all the dulls, build up, to an enduring height.
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Poetry of Todd Cecil: "Buicks"
http://tcnotebook.blogspot.com/2008/05/poem-buick-published-2002.html
Poetry of Todd Cecil. Saturday, May 24, 2008. He loves the life of others lives. The talk of tours down beautiful rivers. And the distance your head gets in moving. His buick is the color sky sometimes makes. With grass around the tires. The oil is changed though. And he knows it’s gonna move. To find California someday. Recovering his fermenting sight. In the finery of alcohol. His father, taught ancient history. Doesn’t drink like him. Nor wear a belt. But his kitchen smells so good. In black heavy pans.
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Poetry of Todd Cecil: 1940
http://tcnotebook.blogspot.com/2008/05/1940.html
Poetry of Todd Cecil. Saturday, May 17, 2008. She was the last person on earth. Whenever that song was played. Too much of a change in ideas…make a connector). He stood over her and blocked out the light. The scene around her flooded in. And melted back down into a smoky barroom. The musicians in the corner quietly purred. Rubbing music up against the dancers. Swaying on the floor. The slow walls waved like marsh grass. The roars of a world muted out by a trumpet. A mood moved over the room.
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Poetry of Todd Cecil: One Good Wing
http://tcnotebook.blogspot.com/2008/05/one-good-wing.html
Poetry of Todd Cecil. Wednesday, May 21, 2008. The bald eagle was endangered. Along the banks of Alaska. We listened to the boy talk with a massive bird on his hand. Watching us suspiciously like a dangerous predator. I bought her something rare. As rare as a 5 year old Alaskan eagle. I've learned to bring things back. As if all things are endangered. As if all things can be smoothered. Then brought back to life. In a better, more appreciated form. The eagles around the raptor center. With one good wing.
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Poetry of Todd Cecil: May 2008
http://tcnotebook.blogspot.com/2008_05_01_archive.html
Poetry of Todd Cecil. Saturday, May 24, 2008. He loves the life of others lives. The talk of tours down beautiful rivers. And the distance your head gets in moving. His buick is the color sky sometimes makes. With grass around the tires. The oil is changed though. And he knows it’s gonna move. To find California someday. Recovering his fermenting sight. In the finery of alcohol. His father, taught ancient history. Doesn’t drink like him. Nor wear a belt. But his kitchen smells so good. In black heavy pans.
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Poetry of Todd Cecil: Living in Sin
http://tcnotebook.blogspot.com/2008/05/living-in-sin.html
Poetry of Todd Cecil. Tuesday, May 20, 2008. Today is close enough. To resemble their garden. Singing the value of every child they. On the vines and in the leaves. Burying songs in the ground. To come up as beautiful red tomatoes. More priceless than as money is not. As southern as an antique name. And Mary Ray was his girl, not his. Wife or her husband. By living in sin and some past idea. And making it work. Julius would bubble bottles of four roses. Balancing a guitar on his knee. And then it was me.
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Poetry of Todd Cecil: $81
http://tcnotebook.blogspot.com/2008/05/81.html
Poetry of Todd Cecil. Thursday, May 22, 2008. Finding first your head. Lies is to talk your pillow. Into being the third person. To move like the talk of the town. Through the squealing people. Inflatable faces with leaks. And giants with coins. Tossing their valuables to the wind. Sometimes they say the sun makes. But there on your. Pillow is the first place I'll leave. And all the brooms walking around. Rooms in a dance. The way I remember. Todd Cecil - www.slidesong.blogspot.com.
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