Written for Black Harlequin, (1991) a spoken word opera.

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I love the way breeze pulls at your hair
Unravels the tussles, leaving your fingers bare
Fingers clutching out of extinction
When all them bones shake off their graves
I love the moon fixed in its stare
Watched by them histories puttin spells in the air
Done them no good still festering sores
Them bones sticky tacky celebrate the hungering hordes

I love to watch my sleeping lover's oiling sweat
It glistens, it glasses, it swirls into the maelstrom
Of bodies undulating sheeding off their sins
Them bones rise up free of skin

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