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  • Streaming + Download

    Includes unlimited streaming via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality download in MP3, FLAC and more.
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  • Perfect Sleeping Weather (the book) (signed)

    Price includes shipping to anywhere in the US.

    Scrawled into notebooks from the familiar comforts of temporary homes and the passenger seats of mechanically unsound vehicles adrift on the highways and back roads of America, Perfect Sleeping Weather is fifteen years of thoughts, observations, facts, and fictions hammered into a collection of poetry that, according to one reader, "sounds like a sigh."

    In this, his first book, writer/drummer/comedian Larry Fulford reflects on the usual -- life, death, love and leaving -- while still managing to name-check Van Halen. Twice.

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lyrics

Once more am I scattered.
This newfound and omniscient cleanliness,
while nice, provides no pleasant feeling
and an inexplicable desire to organize.

The spirit and soul of a thousand roads
is adrift in the naked night air
and the only damage is half a clamshell
for the labor that set the raft streaking
across tissue-thin layers of evolution
simmering on a gut-full of idle ambition.

Heel-to-toe the worries parade around the floor
leaving me no room to pace.
A rainy day sure can make
clock hands hurry their revolutions
and rain can sure bring out the features of characters
in beat-up brown leather
who leave their umbrellas at home.

Discovering and rediscovering passion and heart attacks
with four holes in my foot for the rain to soak through
lying on train tracks with a penny on my forehead
hoping that I may be your lucky day.

The attic is empty and anything important
has been reduced to memory.

Stars no longer strike me as “awesome.”
People no longer strike me as “odd.”
I’m seal-slick and obvious, completely content,
an arm’s length away from communications,
face up in anger,
searching for some kind of hip new age miracle.

The webs are spun. The fire’s out.
(if only crutches could make me move faster)

Here we spend days too aware,
balled up in a fetal position.
Nights we spend losing owl-eyed staring contests to mirrors.

Tongue-tied and weary of hearing myself think
haggard and old, thick with verbiage.
Into the bridge with gum on my shoe
four holes in the chair I’m nearly asleep in —
nearly asleep by —
bullet in the shin.

The outline of the branches makes a jagged
heart-shape against the moonlight
and every last spring in my mattress is out.

Picture frames stand tall in the forefront — empty —
the tip of this pencil is broken
and sharper than it’s ever been.

The chimney on our glass house is missing a brick
I can’t stand it so I sit
perfectly still in the center of whatever
fully aware that 60 seconds will always be
exactly 60 seconds long
feeding on air with my elastic lungs.

I’m talking myself into a corner with a stutter.
Can’t write fast enough to remember the phone number.
And when I finally do merge in —
finally rid myself of these
origami appendage acquaintances —
I’ll be automatic
with a new ability to realize

so blow my mind when I close my eyes.

credits

from Perfect Sleeping Weather, released January 1, 2021

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Larry Fulford Florida

Larry Fulford is a writer and comedian and used to play a bunch of drums.

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