Beasts copulate after midnight under the pews in the Mission. Their fur wanders. Their bodies heat the adobe. Close-up of blood tears; fangs. Lust, the James M. Cain way, in dialect. The Lone Franciscan lights the last unlit candle. Wherever he casts the candle, the beasts disappear.
It’s been raining for days. Drops penetrate the adobe and fill singing bowls. A reed player, stationed behind the candle smoke and behind the shadows of the disappearing beasts, charms the pools of rain. Hideous organic material sprouts. Spirits saw away at their rims. Chime is separated from chime is separated from chime, in a circular motion. Inclement weather and charms. Frame drums and harder stiff material hang from a beam above the altar.
By the end of it, the Mission is sunk, as covered and dunked in mud as the beasts. This happens due to belief, disbelief.
• Shanyio: https://shanyio.bandcamp.com
• Paul Mimlitsch: https://www.facebook.com/R369improv
• Thirsty Leaves: http://thirstyleaves.weebly.com
More about: Nuri, Shanyio with Paul Mimlitsch
