The Evver Whimm Apple Sanctuary

Home of The Evening Psychic : : trembling in his wake 

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BLUE LILIES the second album from BLUE DUST ARCHIVE is now streaming/available everywhere: 




You can purchase or download it here

WHEN THIS YOU SEE, REMEMBER ME, the new album from GREATER BIRD OF PARADISE, is now available digitally. 



You can purchase or download it here

This is an archiv of durable phenomena
to record the effforts of
a flute of numbers
with a mouse in its head


ENJOY THE MEAT OF THE WIND

WE WHINE IN A GROTTO OF HEAT

I have no mercy for the devoid of chrysalis banging shoes against forest fires

mastication

blithering moats

bound in flight

crowned with wardens

reveal us, stewards of hell


There is a dirigible of spasming light coating the tongue of our heat

heart rattling chicken bones

discover the mountain empire

fast, emboldened and

structured like a dream

with hot fingers gliding

across the clavicle,

and suckle upon the

gannets and slumbers

too well, too thoroughly,

and fractionated blessings

thrust from the surface of

a convent as tattoos

of milk

diaphanous gold and specter of deranged myth

ladybugs cleaning its teeth

dotted epiglottal starry jangles

a foot to bereave and goad into the snow

dust off the lips

inchoate struggles

bitter and ruptured damages

cones of powder

delicate shadows wrapped around insidious brows

sculpture of a human heart

breath of the dime

scripture of a human heart


supple masks for the edge of the eyes

no pronouncement

a bleeding tongue doused in angelfire

a pattern lost to the vogue of announcement

don’t accept the architecture of definition

don’t belie the tunnels of crouching sorrow

I have no stomach

I have no branching sour lights

gobbling treats to denounce the public

a fortune in myth

a dubious lout governing stubborn winding slobbering idiotic babbles

so idyllic and profound that the

wind has scraped itself off of the power

that fletches it from a donated peregrine

don’t ask me what to do

I have no alembic grace, an ovarian stubble -

coloratura of the rats

derelict paint throttled east and west

beyond tables and buttons

unbelievably bad dripping stale beaks

you morph

you squirm

you trample and gobble the night

no insemination of dust

to bring loitering deacons to the prow

I snicker at the fleeting blood