A Band Of Buriers - Stuffing A Chest With Twigs

A feather held aloft in your extended arm An old barracks graffitied and crumbling Green, brown, red in a skin like flung paint on a window Sleeping giants of industry your time to stir has been and gone Slake my wandering interest with dross Is the bird alone? Is the veil a prop in the lonesome man’s tragedy? Head on to the edge of the night residing in a western crockery plantation. This is expressive of cemeteries smeared black or dark orange sinking in a waxy skin of light blue left alone to rot amongst large scale fragments of aggressive every day objects; material plentitude, seraphim skin, sexually potent media and humour hanged and left silhouetted through a dazzling stain glass window to wither. Images in constant flux and sombre palettes like the sky today and tomorrow reduced to pure abstraction. The base truths of life sober exteriors and friends and their subtle contortions of disquieting impressions. A stain blend decorative vertebrate outline