There once was a glassblower who lived by the sea. In the daring years of his youth, the glassblower would pull all kinds of strange and wonderful shapes from out of colored glass. He blew neon spires ... [+]
"Now we will find what the rest have left behind." —Lil Green There, not here, is wordless. Even whispers don't speak; gasped or groaned sibilance, bray of torrid airs blasting hairs that stray from ears or climb the throbbing nape. Inverse of explaining. There's no proximity— just brush, advancing touch, the eager clutch final as death, as life. We overmuch, coupled as urgent necessity, onrushing body and soul. Or nothing. Absence altogether, abolished us— no you or me alone. No torch song sings what's done, no chansons for utter darkness, love. Stardusts are notions moonshine brings, lyrics