Thanks guys, very kind. The mystery woman is Keri, of course.
I did record a bunch of stuff a whiles back which I'll use for participation here. The work wheel is spinning up again, I have three overlapping projects coming on stream so time will be minimal. For interest, here's the written version.
Butterflies and chaos
For my black year of blistered days
and rage, the clouds paused
and trickled sand dunes
slowly in glass hours.
In her secret moon-shadow shack
I paid the wise woman with love
and potatoes to splay the cards
and touch stardust to my eyes.
The death factor as a vector of fate
in the draconic sky-wheeled zodiac
indicated a cynical shepherd’s sly
gambit at the north node’s gate.
'I don’t really understand, Charmaigne.'
'This is what God wants you to do.'
'And what is that?'
'Be a healer.'
What me, with some minor mojo chance
talent, cavorting as a counterfeit shaman?
Because my imprinted woman abandoned
me, falling to the pain of God’s stab-hand?
Cast adrift to consider the cosmic sea
amidst ghost-faces lifted to breathe,
riding on waves of mortal silence
echoing from an abstract portal.
Tears alone are a tide that swims upstream
and time is but a wheel of passing seasons.
On a crack-flash night of lightning strikes
I stood outside and offered God my deal.
Resigned, to ride a muddy red motorcycle
down vintage lanes, with amethyst, oil and
wine, and other props and things of healing
slung across my back in an army patrol bag.
By misty yellow streetlight, paper numbers
manifest a wooden door. Percussive knuckles
send sound waves. Causality spreads, rippling
vibrations no less swift than a chance reflection.