13th Idiot Blessed

Return to Burned Tongue Recordingshttp://burnedtongue.com

Pink Flower

Misere on Father’s Day,

Michelle! It was then that you joined us in the train yard

       near North and Lockport.

A fragment of soul, adrift,

From your concealed throat came your favorite torch song:

Faceless one! Keep faith with me.

As I would a faun,

Forlorn and with a broken back

I pitied you, but poked at you,

Dissecting you,

While holding you flat against the wall.

Into your hidden mouth,

The hypodermic kiss of a stranger

made space for you (you faceless one).

Though in time you recovered,

A hole had been ripped through you

Through which you displayed your soul

and lifted  your skirt.

Your bare legs exposed

For passersby and rivals

Who’d slash each other’s skin

For a chance to warm their hands.

Now faithless one, keep face with me!

Obscured by shadows and clouds,

My question marks subside and dissolve into all

            that I’ll never know about you.

The lies I’ve told and the lies I’ve tried to believe,

The things I’ve known but have never seen,

My own will melting into your liquid, warm, pink flower.

With held breath and closed eyes,

I’m pulled into your firm, vindictive grip,

As you hum to me the songs you learned

while you were hidden away.

Their tunes of harsh and foreign strain

Sear my raw combusting skin.

You Faithless One, keep faith with me!

Goodbye Michelle,

Have a good year.


13th Idiot Blessed (5:49)

Blind Bird  with Phil Calvert (7:52) £

A Dog’s Moon (2:52)

Nomalte (2:44)

Pink Flower (4:09)

Raven (7:02)

The Window in the Ground with Phil Calvert (3:52) £ ∞

Junta’s Yoga Cult Dilemma (3:40)

Jerald (2:42)

Diaspora Largo (2:39)

Cloud Above the Lake (2:48)

At Hooker Docks (4:15)

Tubby (2:20)

£ Phil Calvert, Lead Guitar

FM, Piano

Jeff Miley, Rhythm Guitar

Doug Shreeve, Bass

Eric Wells, Drums

Produced by Phil Calvert & Frederick Moore

∞ Composed by Phil Calvert & Frederick Moore

All other tracks composed, produced, and performed by Frederick Moore.

Front Cover Painting by Thomas Jackson

Released in 2003


Low within the teeming tide,

Small static from the other side,

Fully formed without design,

A universe confined.

Was pulled like string into her shrouded

Head in finite clarity,

The Moby of her darkened sea

Secured, but loosely bound.

Raven fell without a sound,

Her wings lie shattered on the ground,

Surrounded by unguarded gates

Unlocked, then opened wide.

Friction laced with fantasy

Will pull its dark cloud over me

With kinks and pangs to comfort me

Upon the ice I’ll be.

Focused eyes of beaming brides,

in solemn lies, their truth subsiding,

Exhalations from the floor,

Their words defining us as images,

Of finite clarity,

And fingers wrapped around the keys,

That work their way into the living door

That lives inside.

Raven fell without a sound,

Her wings lie scattered on the ground,

And though we sift through mute debris

The black box can’t be found.

Friction laced with fantasy

Will pour their dark dirt over me,

A falcon in the sacristy

Upon her (ice) I’ll be.

Cloud Above the Lake