from by Cicadan



Diurnal flame licks sunburnt wood.
Insects conduct a cacophonous drone.
Architects of web, nest and cave.
Instinctual dances of avid spirits.

Eucalypts exhale through trembling veins of detritus.
Lungs are cleansed through roots in the undergrowth.
Healed blood flows in suffocated islands of forest.
(Thylacinus senses foul play in the air.)
Narratives of human enterprise witnessed by black lenses of an owl.

Only 4 cries are heard over the thunder.
Rains drown the voices of eternal origin,
returning role of earthly steward to those who have no say.

Indigenous ochre painted across the land,
ignored, washed away, modernity instead served cold.


from Mother, released July 30, 2012




Cicadan Cobram, Australia

Cicadan is the sonic manifestation of a world largely lost.

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