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4. |
Last queen of Sheeba
02:21
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5. |
Constant star
03:21
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6. |
Maudlin me
04:56
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8. |
Silver fortitude
02:55
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9. |
Cuando me desperté
02:55
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When I awoke
There were flowers bedside my bed.
Not from a lover
Or for the dead.
They were picked from my dream,
planted by my hands
forgotten by my feet.
I would have liked they were
Black-eyed Susan’s,
Camellias or Carnations.
Instead they were Holly
from my parent’s tree.
Always and rotund But
crushable, sanguine beads.
I would have liked they were
white or even red tulips,
a tuberose, Magnolia.
Instead they were Lavender
which drew my nose
To sneezing,
Belied by its delicate beauty.
I would have liked there were umbels of Queen Ann’s
Lace, a tapestry.
Instead there was one Stargazer,
She begged for a vase of her own,
And now there is no time.
She has quaffed all in one gulp.
Who wouldn’t be drawn to her silk kimono?
None of those flowers could do it:
Not as a bouquet, not one by one.
So I slumber again and dream of this black thumb.
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10. |
Although moribund
02:54
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11. |
Now's the time
03:02
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12. |
Madame X
04:04
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Honestcourtesan Nashville, Tennessee
Thrust into a world of linearity and the loss of magic.
loose wallpaper unraveling,
stitch by stitch
by stitch, molting at breakneck, black hole speed, to reveal infinite dimensions.
A suit of threadbare flesh rest at its core, a vessel for the naked skin of curiosity and lust for being lost in inquiry.
And from the dust, la estrella was born.
... more
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