I grew up in a tribe of spiky painted fiends. Incest rife and hardware mainlined, I passed around and broke up the Millenium. Wandered; foreign people and marrying out.
Jolted I set to slowly tracking back. The old postcode; brushing by; how to arrive? Through the female line and in the right time. Careful balances inclined.
To harmonise old tensions – find the one who can set me straight. Him behind me, my new mate.