Of all of the fabrics that make up the melting pot,
layeth the Quilt,
strung up strewn, together, in threads of plenty.
The Quilt renders a moment cozy, or a moment cottony smooth , in the throat’s chest.
The rugged earth, red, of the Southwest
The rainforested mug warm of the Island vibe.
The Quilt takes on all of the textile traditions into a clusterfuckmagnet of color and shape.
From the source to the silk to the strands to the stitch
Its a song, that blanket is.