High-quality limited edition hardbound artbook with John William Carroll's poems typeset and 13 original illustrations by Reuben Butchart. Book contains over 32 pages and compact disk.
Also includes immediate download of 8-track album in your choice of 320k mp3, FLAC, or just about any other format you could possibly desire.
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An old man walking out to buy new shoes wonders,
or maybe says out loud –
he's never sure which anymore –
nor does he give a damn if he is talking to himself.
He's a good listener.
An old man walking out to buy new shoes asks:
"Will I live to wear new shoes out?"
The sole of his loafer tore loose.
Electrician's tape wouldn't hold up
for more than a block's worth,
yapping and yapping
like one of those
little dogs he detests.
In his mind's eye he begins
to set out a life's march
of all the shoes he ever wore –
from lamby baby shoes to army boots
to yapping dog loafers.
Marching, marching, marching.
All the shoes he ever wore.
There in the store the old man ignores the mirrors,
accepts the first thing he's shown:
Them silly sneaker jobbies made with those Velcro snaps
in some god-awful color
he's never seen in nature.
"I'll wear them out,"
the old man declares to the salesman
and tenderly wraps the loafers
in the tissue and lays them in the box.
"You can keep these," he says.
"You can wear them to your wedding,
so long as you promise
to send an engraved invitation."
Leaving, he says out loud –
or maybe he thinks it –
"Soles as thick as tractor tires,
in the interest of fiscal prudence,
I'd better get walking."
Walking, walking, walking.
All the shoes he ever wore.
In the store he spotted a polished pair of two-toners,
slender and yar as yachts,
so smooth they could turn on a dime,
dance on the dizzying lights and glide on the sawdust,
swing a pretty girl out,
pull her sweet swirl back into his arms.
This pair belongs there
between army boots and black oxfords –
those shoes he wore behind bars,
a bank teller staring at the clock
like a school boy how many years.
Standing, standing, standing.
All the shoes he ever wore.
The harbor was full of boats that day,
riding the swells that spilled through the breakwater,
tugging at their guy ropes like greyhounds
knocking into one another, sniffing arses.
The rigging tinkled against the masts like sacramental bells.
The boats sluiced over a dazzle of sparks on the wavelets.
He wiggled his toes in the Velcros. "Lot's of room in here."
"Good," he says or he thinks "'cause I'm still growing."
And rising from the bench, he spins a step stolen from Astaire,
bows from the waist and declares,
"Apparently, my dancing days ain't done."
Dancing, dancing, dancing.
All the shoes he ever wore.
Dancing, dancing, dancing.
All the shoes and one pair more.
from Nameless and Awake: Eight Poems by John William Carroll,
released January 1, 2012
John William Carroll: Poem
Reuben Butchart: Voice, Piano, Mellotron
John Bollinger: Drums
Jason DiMatteo: Electric Bass
Peter Hess: Bass Clarinet
Noah Hoffeld: Cello
Josh Workman: Acoustic Guitar
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