Circus tent stakes being driven into fields with a borrowed sledgehammer.
Heat.
Rope pulling it all together.
Sequined costumes.
Hand sewed lace stitched on the fortune teller’s dress…
with every stitch a wish.
Heat.
Loud Music.
Bodies on top of crowds moving to the roar.
Laying in the grass under a trailer for shade.
Wet paper towels put in the freezer and onto the back of my neck.
Nightgown. Faded ballet slippers.
Throwing biscuits wildly.
Screaming.
Crumbs in air.
Bruises on our arms from the guards.

What happens when we say – fuck it.
Hiding under a tea table in the tea leaf reader’s tent.
Drawing them in with a curl of my finger
and a note only mirrors can read.

Whispering in your ear.
Passwords and predictions.
Feathers in the wind dancing with us.
Crowd surfing.
Meeting new friends in the lunch line.

Me and Ariel from Icon for Hire.

Pictures so you don’t forget
….so I don’t forget.
Sun setting.
Sitting on the back of a trailer.
Laughing.

Borrowed bicycles from the guys in Mayday Parade.
Closing my eyes in the wind while I ride fast.

Bicycle Gang with Erik of Felix Blithedale

Screaming because I can.
Because I’m alive.
Because you’re alive.
Wearing the wrist band of someone who isn’t anymore
who lives through us.

Moonlight and tall palm trees.
Wheelchair relay races in the parking lot.
Strumming a 1948 arch top f-hole guitar.

Singing a story into the dark night as
the road rumbles beneath us.
We are blurry.

Passing out in makeup and ripped up slips.
Bleary eyed morning in my bunk
700 miles and 24 hours apart from the last…..

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