Yesterday, the 4-weekly music playing in the library, a delight. Somewhat hellish at home with work in the house, and my brother filling a room, a brief visit before my aunt's lonely funeral today. Deb is just recovered from her short illness.
I've spent today mastering Another Violet Night, awaiting a proof, then basic working out the tracks and lengths, and the design of the lyrics book and the iTunes Digital Booklet. I'm tired of the music now, eager to move on. I wrote a poem about our pariah tea; herbal, gifted at Christmas, untouched.
Pariah Teabags
Exotic herbal teas
gifted and received each
Christmas, and forever
languishing in the cupboard's
vault, in hope and despair
If hell is to be unwanted
hell is there
Oh to steep
as we were promised
when green-tipped, plucked
dried with comrades
to await, and wait
If hell is to be unwanted
hell is our fate
Fennel, rose, mint julep
chamomile, hemp's must;
sage, lavender,
forgotten mugwort, burdock
bitter bitter green
Unwanted horrors
Untried, unseen
Steep for 3 minutes: no
Add sugar to taste: never
Swamp smells, no taste
Good for you: no
Sartre? No
Our life is Camus
Sans brew
