![]() |
From The Canvas Backdrop |
![]() |
From The Canvas Backdrop |
![]() |
From The Canvas Backdrop |
![]() |
From The Canvas Backdrop |
![]() |
From The Canvas Backdrop |
![]() |
From The Canvas Backdrop |
Wear White Paint for the Moon We draw back, it is not easy but there is no other way. White fire spills from the cauldron of the night. A pregnant belly of illumination where spirits gather before they arrive and after they return. Moths against the lantern, our scorching hearts. Clouds skein like silver wool. Earth and stars spin falling into the vortex of whitening and darkening. The moon is a rock that flew from our oceans and seeks to return to her womb within us. Stark, startling, as I round the corner of a busy street. A spotlight in the charred sky. In the moisture of my eyes, squinting, a gleaming halo moon. A barren rock of mountains and dried seabeds up there, dragging the oceans with her, her dress of tides. A queen of debauchery, a mythos of dark permissions. Or the purity of a white goddess worshipped by the skyclad among the trees dancing in naked circles drawing her power. She is a pearl like a grain of sand in the oyster of the night that opens, a mystical lamp for the mutterings of poets and visionaries and the crazed in a world of forgotten harrowings. In the perigee moon what is untamed reigns. Wear white paint, my love, so we may dance savage across the stage lit by the moon in the night sky. Wear white paint, my love, so we may dance before the dawn draws us away. A crystal ball for seers, the beginning of time crumbles into the end. And as we sleep, faint and far apart, we guard the moon in our dreams. |
![]() |
From The Canvas Backdrop |
![]() |
From The Canvas Backdrop |
![]() |
From The Canvas Backdrop |
![]() |
From The Canvas Backdrop |
![]() |
From The Canvas Backdrop |
![]() |
From The Canvas Backdrop |
Wear White Paint for the Moon We draw back, it is not easy but there is no other way. White fire spills from the cauldron of the night. A pregnant belly of illumination where spirits gather before they arrive and after they return. Moths against the lantern, our scorching hearts. Clouds skein like silver wool. Earth and stars spin falling into the vortex of whitening and darkening. The moon is a rock that flew from our oceans and seeks to return to her womb within us. Stark, startling, as I round the corner of a busy street. A spotlight in the charred sky. In the moisture of my eyes, squinting, a gleaming halo moon. A barren rock of mountains and dried seabeds up there, dragging the oceans with her, her dress of tides. A queen of debauchery, a mythos of dark permissions. Or the purity of a white goddess worshipped by the skyclad among the trees dancing in naked circles drawing her power. She is a pearl like a grain of sand in the oyster of the night that opens, a mystical lamp for the mutterings of poets and visionaries and the crazed in a world of forgotten harrowings. In the perigee moon what is untamed reigns. Wear white paint, my love, so we may dance savage across the stage lit by the moon in the night sky. Wear white paint, my love, so we may dance before the dawn draws us away. A crystal ball for seers, the beginning of time crumbles into the end. And as we sleep, faint and far apart, we guard the moon in our dreams. |
![]() |
From The Canvas Backdrop |
![]() |
From The Canvas Backdrop |
![]() |
From The Canvas Backdrop |
![]() |
From The Canvas Backdrop |
![]() |
From The Canvas Backdrop |
![]() |
From The Canvas Backdrop |
Wear White Paint for the Moon We draw back, it is not easy but there is no other way. White fire spills from the cauldron of the night. A pregnant belly of illumination where spirits gather before they arrive and after they return. Moths against the lantern, our scorching hearts. Clouds skein like silver wool. Earth and stars spin falling into the vortex of whitening and darkening. The moon is a rock that flew from our oceans and seeks to return to her womb within us. Stark, startling, as I round the corner of a busy street. A spotlight in the charred sky. In the moisture of my eyes, squinting, a gleaming halo moon. A barren rock of mountains and dried seabeds up there, dragging the oceans with her, her dress of tides. A queen of debauchery, a mythos of dark permissions. Or the purity of a white goddess worshipped by the skyclad among the trees dancing in naked circles drawing her power. She is a pearl like a grain of sand in the oyster of the night that opens, a mystical lamp for the mutterings of poets and visionaries and the crazed in a world of forgotten harrowings. In the perigee moon what is untamed reigns. Wear white paint, my love, so we may dance savage across the stage lit by the moon in the night sky. Wear white paint, my love, so we may dance before the dawn draws us away. A crystal ball for seers, the beginning of time crumbles into the end. And as we sleep, faint and far apart, we guard the moon in our dreams. |
![]() |
From The Canvas Backdrop |
![]() |
From The Canvas Backdrop |
![]() |
From The Canvas Backdrop |
![]() |
From The Canvas Backdrop |
![]() |
From The Canvas Backdrop |
![]() |
From The Canvas Backdrop |
Wear White Paint for the Moon We draw back, it is not easy but there is no other way. White fire spills from the cauldron of the night. A pregnant belly of illumination where spirits gather before they arrive and after they return. Moths against the lantern, our scorching hearts. Clouds skein like silver wool. Earth and stars spin falling into the vortex of whitening and darkening. The moon is a rock that flew from our oceans and seeks to return to her womb within us. Stark, startling, as I round the corner of a busy street. A spotlight in the charred sky. In the moisture of my eyes, squinting, a gleaming halo moon. A barren rock of mountains and dried seabeds up there, dragging the oceans with her, her dress of tides. A queen of debauchery, a mythos of dark permissions. Or the purity of a white goddess worshipped by the skyclad among the trees dancing in naked circles drawing her power. She is a pearl like a grain of sand in the oyster of the night that opens, a mystical lamp for the mutterings of poets and visionaries and the crazed in a world of forgotten harrowings. In the perigee moon what is untamed reigns. Wear white paint, my love, so we may dance savage across the stage lit by the moon in the night sky. Wear white paint, my love, so we may dance before the dawn draws us away. A crystal ball for seers, the beginning of time crumbles into the end. And as we sleep, faint and far apart, we guard the moon in our dreams. |
Thank you for visiting, and come back soon.