03:40 – Undoing
(00:00 – 01:37)
The ukulele. The guitar.
Voice strips the strings – makes sound naked. The g
minor under her navel
smells like sage, weed and lavender dipped in green
The fretting of notes on her fingerboard.
If you press the spinal cord enough
the bases of harmony reverberate Mexico in psilocybin
you cannot help but flay the flesh of the open string.
By c’s minor rope there is nothing but pulse.
Tequila crystallises itself around the parts of the lips that count.
(01:38 - 03:40)
Frida Kahlo (finds me in between the brackets) eats my umbilical cord. Rebirth.
Skin abandons touch – remembers in vibration. Waves raise all hairs.
Flowers drain the blood from all my little deaths. (none of these (music) sheets matter).
A garden is burning. There is incense enough for forever.
A moss tea bag in cold water apologises to my mother’s mother.
The neck splinters. Lo-fi is sounds generational shift.
What is a barre chord anyway?
Hearted in halves are all our meetings.
It is not about the about.