Track Insight / Lyrics
The laundromat hums a low brass riff, neon beneath the steel drum.
I measured the glyphs in the detergent, finding the rhythm of sediment.
I speak to Helianthus in tidy rows; he keeps his leaves tight to the soil.
The machine shivers like a soil knot, a quiet pulse in its bathtub.
A chorus of tumblers gives a misfit blues, the sing of cotton on wire.
I address Cichorium intybus, asking him to hold the fabric of the bath.
The foreheads of the washers spin, a drumbeat counted in quartets of spin.
I feel the old white drum like an earth crust, grinding wax into low echoes.
I'm humming against a post-punk standard, horns blaring across the kitchen tiles.
I see a patch of cornus, a dry leaf, rippling in the slammed-off silence.
The piano scratches like a talon on the worn laminate, we both sway.
We pair our breaths like a double helix, slicing through cotton loops.
The hiss of the water is a
staccato the floor tiles shout in copper
The plants call from the corner, 'Vitis vinifera, twist the cotton loop.'
The spin echoes a metronome, a patter in the dirt dust.
The door creaks, the tempo holds, a quiet roar out of the center.
I'm humming against a post-punk standard, horns blaring across the kitchen tiles.
I see a patch of cornus, a dry leaf, rippling in the slammed-off silence.
The piano scratches like a talon on the worn laminate, we both sway.
We pair our breaths like a double helix, slicing through cotton loops.
