Magazines, like people, need a quiet place. Especially SPIN, cast as it is with so much strutting egos and talk of great sounds. Hence here—amidst the hurlyburly, the din, the ruckus, the primping—we open for you a small garden in which to pause.
As readers of our September print issue know, this contemplative space was created for us by two women of singular grace and taste: Sheila Chandra, mythopoetic mesmer, and Lera Lynn, spare queen of post-Americana.
Today the digital world gets Lera Lynn’s offerings. Sit here as long as you like, and come back anytime.
Hard to hold wide view
Days have become indistinct
Monotony rules
There’s light in his eyes
A heart following itself
Hidden from the world
A thorn in the hand
And something coming unstuck
Blood often comes too
How strange to hold now
Tactile when the world forgot
Beauty lies in touch
The eye does not like
All the gaps filled in for it
Long live mystery