I sit and read your poems in dimly lit halls
Waiting for the programme to start
Secrets hide themselves under my cuticles
Thoughts intact
I am the girl who misses much
The skin is a windshield
Inner-lined
And distance is one thing you can keep
Here you are
The skin breaks
As the lights go up on the stage
In the words your heartbeat
A metre-net on the page
Stay with me
The darkness
Ink seeping through at the edge
Hold my body
Like a fountain pen in your hands
"Flower Of Life" yanks riot grrrl south through the unmistakable garage psych sound indispensable to the last 20-odd years of rock music out of Los Angeles. Bandcamp Album of the Day Mar 2, 2023