TAPES COLE HAYLEY
1. EIGHT DOORS 2. SANDCASTLE 3. BORN STUBBORN ME 4. RESTORER 5. DISTRACTOR 6. LOVE COMPLEX 7. 10 GRADE GEOMETRY 8. CATALYST… AND WHAT GOES WITH IT 9. POWER-LINES 10. MATH 1090 11. CRAWLER 12. CHILD 13. SWELL 14. BORA BORA BAY 15. HALF-MOON BAY 16. I CAN GIVE YOU IT 17. CARRIER A 18. DOOR EIGHT
TH

EIGHT DOORS

  1. This door was a rectangle In PSILOMELANE 2. This door was a rectangle In mirror of one. 3. This door was the muddy reflection 4. This door was the sky That showered October winds And put the ravens on the branch. 5. This door was also carved Of PSILOMELANE 6. This door was one way. 7. This door had no doorknob. 8. This door was the red In the ocean. A gapping hole                                        
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          The girl played As a girl. She had been Static before. But now Was a girl Voluminous blob -Now a girl. And I saw her, As a girl.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

             SANDCASTLE  

And I saw her Watch the clouds crash On the beach. And I saw her Metastasize. The sand. Her fingers. I saw her as god, As a girl. And tussah foam Was the waves, as She was as a girl. And the infrastructure Was a home, as She was a girl. And the feather Was a fascist flag, As she was A girl.        

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BORN STUBBORN ME

We live in an unpolished acreage. A vapid plane jammed between Two confounding spheres.

The SUN The MOON
Rambling on and on and on and on and on and on and on. Shooting the tides at each other. Bonfires and beach days, all hurdled at the wall. SMASH. Cracking them into billions of pieces. Shooting them into the universe as pixie dust, forever to twinkle behind them.

The STARS. Starlight. Moonlight. Sunlight. All are full of light, only the presence of darkness allows us to categorize and classify.
Spatial summation, all of these things coming together for us. To love, to propose, to marry. The different backdrops, Rolling carts and thousands of forces pushing and pulling.

Pushing and pulling and pushing and pulling and pushing and pulling. -----------------------------------------------------------------------A besetting pulley system that is hinged on the Back of the cosmos. Raising and lowering Raising and lowering raising and lowering raising and lowering -------------------------------------------------------------------A papier-mâché set of spheres: The MOON, the SUN
Prickly abnormality: The STARS. All within each other. All of them eating the cavities of each other. Everything and Anything. All of them together.

 

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RESTORER  

Speckled in color Speckled in sty All prismatic All unmixed Was once dry. Restorer, you swept Clean the flat. Restorer, you drifted Down the Nile And kept it vivid. And kept it mild.

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DISTRACTOR

Glints Not of, or not have. To disavow Is to carry the Burden. And the dedication Is to raid. As is The rumbling and Shoreline. Pyrotechny, Not of, or might have. Distractor, Follow to the column And rest your Head. To the Roman Empire, Distractor, The edge is Curved.

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     LOVE  COMPLEX  

I was a mass of matter A mess of matter Scattered-battered like A mass of matter. And I had gathered More bins of matter To make a mess of matter In the laundry hamper! And I had gathered A TRAY of matter For a girl I had flattered! Yet flattered did not matter And I was shattered! And something was nothing And nothing mattered! For I was a mass of matter But I'd rather To be a mess of matter For I was gladder

PAGE SIX

10 And it was for quite sometime That I questioned if a circle Was really a circle? All on good authority, Of course. Triangles, I knew they Were not real. 180 degrees… Yeah PLEASE! Hexagons – hexagons has "hex" in it. It makes me think of witches. Witches are not real. Square -- squares are boring. Boredom is not real. Trapezoid – Trapezoids remind me of Giant space robots They are not real. Parallelogram – parallelogram Now that is fun to say over and over Again. … Fun is not real Rectangles -- Come on!! So, it is my theory, Wait, I mean… It is my hypothesis That a circle is not really a circle Because a circle cannot be real Spheres on the other hand … how beautiful
PAGE  SEVEN  

TH

GRADE GEOMETRY

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

   

           

CATALYST… AND WHAT GOES WITH IT

Reaction, And what goes with it. Streaks along the ice That color the Reactant. And if the overhead casts a pixel -The "one" and the "only" shadow. For the reactor Keeps the "one" At bay. And if occasionally -And only occasionally, It bleeds when Prodded May the burst not sour The taste of the "Only" For the reactor is the one Who looks for it. The one who diffuses The reactant. And to question -And only question Is blasphemous For the reactor To the reaction Is the only Reactant.

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                If it had not been, For the channel of power-lines. What could not of been? If not for the channel Of power-lines? Their clothes hangers, And voltaic buzz. If it had not been, I would have not seen The seagulls. With a glissade In chromatic teal. Their wings, all fluttered, And the fish in their mouth. If it had not been, I would have not seen The peaking moon. Far-ahead of its time, Bi-curious of the Clouded lens. If it had not been. I would have not seen The top-of-trees. And how they shadowed, And they swarmed. And I wondered. For what could have been? If it had not been, For the channels of Power-lines.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

         POWER-­‐LINES  

PAGE NINE

MATH 1090

And if the lecture had started on time. Would the lens of the professor's glasses tumbled down Olympus? Would the frames be Jocasta? And if the lecture had started on the mark. Would the speakers have crackled and buzzed -- That sharp, cutting screech? And if the lecture had been on schedule Would the girl be wearing a Black Sabbath T-shirt? Or would Kithairon take water? And if the TA's had been on the ball. Would the sheep have been sheered? Would the Battle of Plataea have raged on? And if the lecture had stared on time. I would have missed it.

PAGE TEN

CRAWLER

I build and then I taste. Preemie, the one thing I ate. And farm silos Keep me suckling. As yeast becomes my cherub.

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CHILD

If what awaits Is truly what they say waits Then what is the wait? If what persists Is truly what they say persists Then why resist? And if a child Is truly what they say is a child Then it must be a child…

 

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                                                       SWELL

Old-timer scripture Pouring from reamed mouths. A vast swell -Limitless. The line of sprawled Wings. A countless crow murder Wrapping around the lineage of Power lines. My bedroom window. Thirsty eyes lie on their Prey -- a rodent splattered by the Sun's shadow. Porcelain beaks, all Whistling a clamor for stretching flesh -The fervid frenzy of feeding Time.

 

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 BORA  BORA  BAY

Spider webs start to string over the sprouting plant-life Sleeping over the oversized petals, canopying the moonlight. Yet the spiders are far-off, burrowing inside of natures womb, Crawling all over its walls and hatching their babies on distant planets. With our hands cupped we can see through the cracks of these leaves. The little tiny holes eaten by caterpillars and other unbelievable things. A flesh-meshed telescope, how it allows us to See all three moons, the distance sun and meteorites. Space rock -- the screaming oblivion. Our hands, still cupped, can see Right to the end of infinity. The rounded edges. All of these things are possible from the straight-forwardness of our Wicker hammock. Lying head first with our feet dangling off the sides. Underneath the spider web, our revolving window.

 
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                Perched upon costal bedrock, I lapse into the submergence Of ocean-voice. Jubilation coexists with the waves. In ever-sense. Bliss had approached -Far-left. Up along the sand dunes And beneath the granite cloud. For an instance I heard its cry, Echoed from shore to Shore.

 

 

 

 

 

 

HALF-­‐MOON  BAY  

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             I  CAN  GIVE  YOU  IT

I can give you it. The antenna that scrapes your Underbelly and grazes your sores Whenever you wish For it to be I can give you it. The preacher on the sand dunes Waving you back to land From the hot air balloon You stole from me. Forgiving, The molten air you Blew into my lungs Every time we kissed. I can give you it. The veins that speak like Tree branches and burrow into Your flesh and make your Limbs swell. I can give you it. The florescent orb Stapled on a golden arch That you wear on your finger Until the day you sell. Forgiving, The holes in the clay That morphed into what We considered as "us". I can give you it, The peace of mind And everything else That my walking shadow Serves.

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                   I CAN GIVE YOU IT (CONTINUED)

I can give you it. The blueness of The day-sky and Everything else that you Deserve

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CARRIER A

All the big - shots. All the chop - ing - blocks. Go on around here. They go around here. If you have the fear. If you have fear.

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               DOOR  EIGHT

It Was Carved Of Cedar -The Eighth Door It Was Carved Of Cedar -Alike To My Mothers Floor

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                                                                                                                                                         THE  END                                      WRITTEN                                B  Y           COLE                   H      A      Y      L      E  Y           T   W    E   E   E   N                                          THE  FALL                                  N                                        D                                  

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NOTES

COLE HAYLEY / COLEHAYLEY.TUMBLR.COM / COPYRIGHT 2013 / COVER PHOTO: “FOR THE FRIENDS I HAVE LOST” BY COLE HAYLEY / SYMBOL: “A GLOBAL DESERT” BY COLE HAYLEY

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