Benoit Pioulard The Loom Pedal
simple signals sung until we're hoarse a thread across a great expanse severed in the middle like a bullet to the sinew shall we dance exhausted, interred when vertices spur, the shuttle returns orchestrated effort adding elements in conjuring ideals coordinated passage is a fragile, braided reason to reveal as soon as i find a good tree to climb the image rewinds i've said my share in aches, maligned & migrained but write cos it's a fool's errand busy, busy, busy
