Pollution cure
Blights her womb.
Crooked weave,
Broken loom.
She harvests sour fruit.
Fallen leaves,
Daybreak frost,
Breath in the air.
Truck fumes agates
Her morning sickness,
Testifies to death or quickness,
Always end up wounded
Wearing armor of a feather’s thickness.
Still born prayers:
Daughter eclipses son.
Waiting rooms,
Ammonia stench,
Cold light,
Plastic bench.
Fed her sour fruit.
Called for help,
No dial tone.
By herself.
Loosing innocence:
A sign of aging.
Nothing could be assuaging
Terror at finding her own body
Was disengaging.
Still born prayers:
Daughter eclipses son.
Hemorrhaged it out,
Couldn’t keep it in.
Cold anemic frailty
Drains the color from her skin.
Bed sheets are soaked.
Room starts to spin.
Falls back a sleep and knows
The infection’s gunna win.
Call it fear,
Call it shame,
Call it love,
Call it blame.
Taste of sour fruit.
Static tones,
Swallowed sobs,
Recovery.
Find her dreaming in the angles’ bowers,
Talking to the T.V. towers.
January window box:
Dry stock of wilted flowers.
Still born prayers:
Daughter eclipses son.
Dreamy vocals, pulsing rhythms, and eerie synths come together to create luxe but ominous atmospheres on the latest from Toronto's Praises. Bandcamp New & Notable Aug 3, 2021