Mapping an Absence

by The Warp/The Weft

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Admirable Traits Records


released July 28, 2017


Trevor Larcheveque - Bass/Vocals
Christian Laura - Drums
Shane Murphy - Vocals/Guitars (Acoustic, Electric, and Lap Steel)
Chris Pellnat - Lead Guitar

Additional Musicians:

David Andersen - Synthesizer/Organ (Tracks 2 & 8)
Robert Caldwell - Hurdy Gurdy (Track 3)

All songs written by Shane Murphy
Dylan Thomas' "Among Those Killed in the Dawn Raid Was a Man Aged a Hundred" is used with permission from Harold Ober Associates
Lyrics © 1971 by The Trustees for the Copyrights of Dylan Thomas

Recorded in September 2016 at Artfarm Recording in Accord, New York
Produced by The Warp/The Weft
Recorded and mixed by David Andersen
Mastered by Alan Douches at West West Side Music


all rights reserved



The Warp/The Weft Poughkeepsie, New York

With its blend of the traditional and the avant-garde, sweater-warmth and winter-dark, The Warp/The Weft has been called "one of the more magical modern-day psychedelic folk offerings" (FolkWorld).


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Track Name: A Welcoming of Owls

You will seem unique and lovable I will
tell you so the next moment
I will go
back on what I said these long
hours with arms raised
to your chandelier
dusting its crystals
The moon now
cradling a star it will have been
a welcoming of owls
one last night siphoned from
endless day

I have dreamed a field unalterable you will
fain plow and sow the next morning
I will grow
rich with dirt and dread these
long hours with arms raised
toward the coming year all rust in the cistern
The moon now
cradling a star it will have been
a welcoming of owls
one last night sweetens
the last old day

Loaded down with ore and boredom
the waves beyond
the window break the oarsmen
Track Name: Blood of the Hunt

With this lever down, son, this rabbit's yours
Never so hard-won--all bruised and sore
The skin and the bones aren't the meat; the meat
not the blood of the hunt: victory and defeat

Life in a fog, and the dogs are bound
tonight to an engine dead and unloved in the yard

With this simple downspout, we save the rain
to irrigate the greens, the fruit, the grains
With this lever down, son, the farm is yours
and the sluggish land will bear more than ever before
Track Name: Briars

Dead horse in a one-horse town
Dead weight in the night, old bag of dreams
Dead horse to marry the frozen ground
Deadened sleigh
No mighty god
No kings

Oilcloth saddle bag
Canteened mouth watered down, down
Two bodies in the briars

Head home to the one-horse town
Head straight to the light, old burst of fears
Head home on the side road long unplowed
Head gate iced fast
though the river sings
Track Name: Nebula

Led for lack of dark
to believe Orion
is trailed by one
star and not a full
dog, they're belly-up
on a rooftop, she
has spread a fleece throw
against the biting
frost. He is pointing
out what he could know:
the whips and chains there
below the belt, or soft
lights of an airplane
mistaken for stars.
This may be their first
moment together.
After years alone
it seems hard for bones
to muster instinct,
and pleasure hardens
like baking-soda
stones, unsiftable.
He holds a warm palm
to her cervix, through
to dawn. A grosbeak
throng scavenges dangling
clusters of suet.

Big dreams bad eyes see
unclearly: this time
last night darkness
completely loved them
and love tonight holds
them snowed-in and starlit.
Track Name: Alarms

At first blush, your winter sky was all stars:
back-lit, full moon-filled, your bell jar.
By morning, with thrush song, the work day:
cover up for crow's feet and heartache.

Undone by alarms in the night,
the firemen hosed them down with the house,
a charcoal dream against sky.

With new love, one hints at what a future holds:
hackneyed summer romance, winter cold.
Mourning doves mourn along the fence line
of white paint and white oak against white pine.
Track Name: Empty Nests

Your dream catcher caught the knife tonight.
The blade won’t penetrate your eyes, your mind.
Who would summon it?
The war outside’s turned common,
hasn’t it? Isn’t it, isn’t it
startling to see the starlings shoot
full-flock like a cannonball from the hedge?
Isn’t it, isn’t it everything you wanted—the furnace bled
and, overhead, a cross-hatching of branches, empty nests.

Summoned to sort it out: the night.

Your dream catcher caught the knife tonight.
The blade doubled back like an uttered phrase
that wasn’t right. Who would summon it?
The words stall in your throat.
Get them out. Here’s a knife.
Extricate the dream-speak from the landmines
and cannonballs of your cowardice. Isn’t it,
isn’t it everything you wanted—the buried dead,
the broken bread on a table
bruised by elbows and candle wax.
Track Name: Into the Marrow

Isn’t it evident that you are all I hold close?
With windows open I can hear
the death knell from a neighboring chapel.

In a drawer I keep
a woolen mouse-nest.
Beyond the beveled panes of windows
I keep snow.

I stay up all night to hear
the hungry owl, a lonesome
coyote’s howl, the voice of a love
I don’t know anymore.

A kiss as startling
and presaging as a bird
against the windshield.

The blizzard took your foot steps
before morning with a rehearsed sigh
for the new year,
like a cancer already into the marrow.

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