Elkhart is an ambient exploration of transient...
Something gets said and the air ripples a straight-line hair across your closest eye— snaps against the bridge of your nose and pops your glasses. You buried your cigarette butts in the black-sinew sand pulsed up by the wake— delivered to its dead and dying friends floating on the top of this reflected mountain under you
Sentient mother six foot tall with those heels dyed pink to match the pole Ed Hardy bag “hardly egged hag” two or three in a trailer in Reno Tuck ‘em in (the firefight roars) burning down the back yard extinguished in acid rain Salient mother two feet, all
stay busy keep your hands moving, occupied keep your brain cranking with possibility know that noone can read this tiny handwriting
the great consideration of the beatniks was just jazzin a trade secret they’ve come to contemplate posthumously