The Great Medicine Show

Playing under bridges with strobe lights, flood the musky weight of ghosts, waiting for the city’s neons to go out so that humans can return back to reality breaking to their knees, laughing and crying, finally cracking the rusted corners of the rib cage so their heart could fully be felt. Bass as a blade, cutting open the sky inside their chests. Inner Rivers remembered as holy, Cigarette smoke curling into halos around strangers who swear they’ve been here before. I pull the night tighter, I bend it until it moans, until breath and beat are no longer separate . I am not a name on a flyer. I am the rupture.