Glass from Tarping by Christy Armstrong

I could feel liminality
As you graced my hand
Tip the glass
With the last
Breath you are holding

On the line
Unreality
Felt a grain of sand
Working down
Hour to hour
Don't tell me I'm sober

Lost at the end always pouring one out for you
An outpour till I withdrew
As though you were already gone

Back on the mend walking down Forest Avenue
The lapse in my memory grew
Suppose I've been there all along

And the words that were given
They now have unfurled
Into objective permanence
Like dog and like squirrel
Running circles all day
In a race for a meaning
One shared understanding
Its fleeting its fleeting

• Ambient
• Experimental
• Folk
• Noise
• Rock
• Caribou