Bry: on writing music

http://bryanjcowsert.wordpress.com/2009/06/23/bryan-cowsert-someone-once-asked-me/

When Cousin Matt Is Dead

The phone will ring at Matt’s mother’s house and the lady will ask are you Matt’s mother and she’ll say yes because she is.  The lady will ask where she lives and Matt’s mother will say what’s this about but the lady won’t tell her though.

The lady uses words that are hollow and heavy and weigh down the heads of the ears that hear them.  These are those words:  We Are Sending Officers To Your Home Is Someone There With You.

Matt’s mother will call Matt and Matt will not answer but his voice will say he’ll call her back.  Matt’s mother will call Matt’s brother and when he answers she’ll know The Who but not for sure The What Or How for another two hours while the officers chopper in.

The meantime leaves a long time to wait and to dial Matt’s number again for the message he’ll call her back which is less and less likely as the night wears on and the officers fly with news too heavy for the ground to hold. 

The officers land and hand off the news to Matt’s mother and father who sift through scenarios, each one ending with Matthew fine.   The dad drives down to tell the man the boy they have ain’t his, and he readies the words I Don’t Know Him but He’s Ours comes out instead. 

Afterwords your Auntie will ring with the news that Matt is dead and your ears won’t work and she’ll have to say it again.  Repeating the words, as you’ll soon find out, is a slash through the chest wall, so please make note that the next time Matt dies and his mother calls to tell you, the kind thing to do is hear it right the first time.  Along with the news a request will you call and tell the others?  Yes you say you will and do, and Matt is dead to Patricia, then Mary.  Matt is dead to George, then Cathy and Tommy.  Matt is dead to your dad and your mother who is dying.  

When Matt is dead you can say it 7 and write it 9 but you still won’t believe it.

Life Lived Happy (Vacation)

There is no Where to look on a Great Big Boat in a seasalt breeze and not see Life lived happy.  There is no space without a dancing man (his head burned badly, bald) and a laughing woman (the openheart chest scar white down her middle).   There is no place the phone will work to call a dead father with news of the weather, to tell a dead mother the sunset would please you (when I remember NOT to call them) on a great big boat in a seasalt breeze there is no Where to look at the happy Lives eyes dry.