Quickball - Honeyfeet
City Lights - DeLix
Final Form - Everything Everything
Before Questions Became (Demo) - The Watchmakers
Black Eyes - Lost Souls
Maybe Your Baby - Stevie Wonder
Alcoholic - Starsailor
Embryo - I See Angels
Talking At The Same Time - Tom Waits
All Your Gold - Bat For Lashes
Fire Song - New Brutalists
LovePower - Julie Gordon
My Rifle, My Pony and Me - Ricky Nelson, Dean Martin
NOL - Hunter Green
Frostbite - The Black Seeds
Aye - The Joint
Look For The Sun - Iron Butterfly
Bugs - Lionize
Valentine - Fiona Apple
A New Error - Moderat
Airbrushed - Fake Blood
Mad Hatter - Masters In France
Old devils - William Elliott Whitmore
A Hole In The Floor
by Richard Wilbur
The carpenter's made a hole
In the parlor floor, and I'm standing
Staring down into it now
At four o'clock in the evening,
As Schliemann stood when his shovel
Knocked on the crowns of Troy.
A clean-cut sawdust sparkles
On the grey, shaggy laths,
And here is a cluster of shavings
From the time when the floor was laid.
They are silvery-gold, the color
Of Hesperian apple-parings.
Kneeling, I look in under
Where the joists go into hiding.
A pure street, faintly littered
With bits and strokes of light,
Enters the long darkness
Where its parallels will meet.
Rises in middle distance
Like a shuttered kiosk, standing
Where the only news is night.
Here's it's not painted green,
As it is in the visible world.
For God's sake, what am I after?
Some treasure, or tiny garden?
Or that untrodden place,
The house's very soul,
Where time has stored our footbeats
And the long skein of our voices?
Not these, but the buried strangeness
Which nourishes the known:
That spring from which the floor-lamp
Drinks now a wilder bloom,
Inflaming the damask love-seat
And the whole dangerous room.