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A Ladle of Mist

by Frances Pylons

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    Cassette tape of A Ladle of Mist on candyfloss pink cassette, professionally reproduced by Glasgow Tapes, in a beautiful handmade maltese-fold card case with lyric insert. All artwork designed by Irene Vidal.

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1.
Lime Tree 05:53
I wake hourly my sweetest one. Saccharine, my shred of sun. See me nightly, in through the throat. Survey the night through the eye of a goat. Panoramic, endlessly. A circular wind 'round the lime tree. Bitter fruit, I will eat my fill. Sour my tongue, reluctantly, I know I will. Daylight, curtains. Cuts me in half. The night viewed by day is a mooncalf. You atone by daylight hours for fruit you fed, so sour.
2.
3.
Chicken, oh chicken you may go up in a balloon. Chicken, chicken, you may hide behind the moon. Chicken, never let a fowl be. Ten thousand dollar warrant for the fowl on earth, he don’t roost too high for me. I got to thinking ‘bout chicken, late the other night, boys, I could hardly rest, jumped out the bed, grabbed up my old shoes, thought of where some chicken was at. Grabbed big buffcoat, stuck him under my arm, something I could never let fall. Don’t think I’ve robbed your henhouse ‘till I get your roost, poor chicken and all. Chicken, oh chicken, you may go up in a balloon. Chicken, you can hide behind the moon. Chicken, never let a fowl be. Ten thousand dollar warrant for the fowl on earth, he don’t roost too high for me. Chicken made me awful mad the other night, man Something that I didn’t like to take Grabbed my little haversack, down across my back. Grabbed the chicken right by the neck. Said I turned around around, quick as I could, chicken hauled away I 'clare. Won’t steal meat and bread out of cook's pot I'll steal chicken from anywhere. Chicken, oh chicken, you may go up in a balloon. Chicken, you can hide behind the moon. Chicken, never let a fowl be. Ten thousand dollar warrant for the fowl on earth, he don’t roost too high for me. Police ‘rest me last Friday night, man, couldn’t think of what's it about. I’m going down the alley where I lived at, a lot of chicken tied in my house I said, "You may take me to the penitentiary wall, I’ll go to work out my time. Just as quick you put me on the L&N track, I’ll have chickens on my mind. Chicken, oh chicken, you may go up in a balloon. Chicken, you can hide behind the moon. Chicken, never let a fowl be. Ten thousand dollar warrant for the fowl on earth, he don’t roost too high for me.
4.
Canopy Dirge 04:47
How I miss you sweetest Dieter Out of and into chiffon curtains White tipped swift, single drop Lost three fingers as a lad Stunted and wingless, my space dream lay in tatters strewn about my earthbound mattress A teardrop frozen in the cold Turbines and pistons have cracked the sky wide open and now reaching out a hand to hold Enfold ...and you, how you rested so sweet 'neath your bed of twisted metal tangled in the trees, and something has been stirred inside of me. This want for height all blistering through the heat.
5.
You in the garden, moon like a china plate seeps through the branches' leaf-woven latticework, down. Torn from their ringbinds, emptied from folders a monolithic archive paperweights encircling, Round. You struck a light, my ruthless Bostonite. A ritual sacrifice. A legion of moths ascend to the firmament, fizzling wings all flickering with fairy lights. Up. My magnum opus crackles like castanets erasing the hourly dredging of my cup. You struck a light my ruthless Bostonite. A ritual sacrifice. Letter by letter the words won't resound, drawn to the bowels through the dogs fiery mouth. And all my transgressions resurfacing now, spewed out like spittle from the dogs fiery mouth.

credits

released March 28, 2019

Recorded, mixed and mastered at The Forge, Mabe Burnthouse, by Dave Wisdom

C F Sherratt - Guitar / Voice
Kieran Haynes - Musical Saw
Josh Barrett - Bass

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Frances Pylons Bristol, UK

Withering spit

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