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and with that it comes like a deluge of blood rushing to my head. I remember this is where I’m from. The smell of sweat from the slick skin of the dead permeates the air as as I’m screaming words I can’t forget. Everyone’s shoving. I’m suddenly shirtless. But I don’t hear a thing. I’m torn like the fabric. I move to the rhythm. I trust everyone will sing. Then I feel a slow collapse, one wall at a time. The world, the house, the hands, the mouths. I’m grasping for a line. Why are we here? What does it mean? I close my eyes and drift again, slipping through the seams.

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from To The Rhythm, released June 1, 2016

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knola

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jack, garret, joe

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knola

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