musical harm

– Jake Tringali

some
drunk stupid
bruiser
bumps viv, a
boston
banshee,
she
enters the mosh
legs
knee
high,
moonstomping
past
the
dank
bar and its
PBRs
fleeing her
personal
ghosts

the pit
dwellers come
near
and a geared
neanderthal
kicks her
shin
fishnets
and
blood no
protection
no
guardian
angel

we
share songs with friends

caught
between
the pit
and the
stage
crushed in the human
press
viv
gasps
for hot
breath her
sweat
her head swivels
her
hair cascades
whipping
through
the pit

elbowed
to
the
head
headed
to the
front stage
bruised
and
bewildered
briefly
sees
a
familiar drunken grin

when
humans get
bits
of
cellular debris in
their
eyes they
sometimes
see
phantom
spots

the
stage lights flicker viv
blinks
when a
stagediver vaults
onto
the top of her head
her
neck compresses
painfully
sees
that grin again
goofy
and
lit
all too
briefly

she
hugs the
stacked
amplifiers
turns
her stomach
to
jelly
her
spine cracking to the
bass
beat
she
wants the music to
hug
back and it kinda
does

the
band’s front
man
reaches down he
hands
her the
mic she
screams,
a
keening cry
her
vivid memory
of a
friend
grabbing
the
mic
with her
her
vivid memory
disappears

we
share
songs
with
friends we
remember
songs like we
remember
friends


Jake Tringali was born in
Boston.  He lived up and down the East
Coast, and then up and down the West Coast, and currently lives in Los Angeles. He runs rad restaurants.  He thrives in a habitat of bars, punk rock
shows, and a sprinkling of burlesque performers. Throughout
2015, his publications include Catch & Release, Boston Poetry Magazine, Indiana
Voice Journal, and twelve other fine journals.

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