Prone from Stratford Rise by Stratford Rise

My breathable trainers are soaked through
One's tongue, a perch of mildew
The glare through fat-fingered glasses
It's just as drinkable now
A call of something, somewhere
It knows sometimes and others not
The rigid skeleton of me
Unphased and trudging on

Pave low
Stay low

A hay bale, spiralled
Impossibly tightly appareled
A grin grows and I grow
Disgusted, detached and weak

I was a field mouse
One's now a rat
The black eyes in my head swivel
And lock on the light from the farm

I saw my body down from above
Flat out, a shell pattern impressed upon the sand; reverse self
Two gears spinning at wild different speeds forced to lock and stop
Step one
Step two
Step four

Savoury
Sweet
A mouth
Full of wheat
A cracked egg full of longing
A face as white as a sheet
The dog
The light
The cavern
The spite
The crackle
The spit
The corner
The might
The ooze
The dance
The dead-eye glare of a preacher man

• Alternative
• Experimental
• art rock
• noise rock
• post-punk
• Belfast