Sacramento from Psithurism by Michael Woodman

Swaddled, fog-burned, noctivagant, sealed.
Roots’ll keep on writhing, shunt your walls to the creek.
I’ve got nothing - can’t invite him. I slept through his passion play.
No petrichor today.

No perception - I’m just barking at the screen.
Mouth mothballed with Kretek, tar and cloves in the nave.
From the basement to the miners’ Virginia City graves.
No petrichor today.

Laugh at those entrapment transcriptions; I get it now.
Come and pull me out, me out.
Meathead needs a good time - needs a good bad time tonight.
Slow down, well this is the ride that we both paid for.

• Progressive Rock
• Rock
• avant-pop
• London