Naima Bock Live

As a toasted marshmallow to saving grace that determines the weather
there the fur of trees goes aghost like favored palms for weekend joints
there was the free scorned second soul like a finished oak and cherry thought
to the dreams of the olympic scare and science windy cradles on the table
reckoning their shoulder-weight ghost to feather in the exposed rivalry
are we not the embodied projection of the denial of our shame, the glue of society
where a magnified situation shies away from the riddle of an entrapped strand