They Will Sew the Blue Sail

Dead Man’s Curve (Original Edit) | Jane Lewty

we are the field, we are selfsame, we are batched so small

 radio-eyed, othered, lost out

shame I missed this generation, cut me, it growls on a good system

 that song does

still want that dark strobe smoke

ab chic acrid square in the wall

what a goose bumper heart heard it and got shutters

  the singing kind of reminds me of

  has choir of women a bit like in love or winter water song with the man that

 despises it and a sentence hi speaking my brain sun hadn’t broken yet, pure class all

analogue driving acid lines  there’s the o

we’re the riffling of dusk and the equation of dusk, its whereabouts

we’re a weathervane of faith/unfaith/faith

 mixed-up and gone old

and autre don’t give me a shortcut thing

like brick, war and battery by the stack

 see our blood—the snow as rose-pink or the carpet black