PLUGHOLE.

Psyched on getting an illustration in the new Mercy E-Zine, and that we'll be playing a show for them in an old paint shop on the street that nearly forgot its own name.

Tonight:

I was Tuesday evening blue with a pain flower in dull bloom just left of my stage-right hip bone. The dog in the next yard shookah-shook a yard dog’s day from his shoulders and watched the lock on the gate to the alleyway. “All your months will begin on a Sunday” said the boy in black to a girl in grey who maybe then got home without her keys. I was heavy eyes under weekend weight, and I held my hands to sleep.