Untitled #64 - by Andres Arevalo

ode to moshing ode to moshing

by Annika Crawford

bodies bump and toss like drunk planets ringed in arcs of hair instead of light I feel your hand tight around my waist your heart beats even in your palm—

is this the closest it gets?

in the one-room galaxy, everyone imagines different suns beating red against their eyelids you know— the thing you have when you’re sick in bed and everyone’s face is far away / the little string that holds you to this world— but maybe I made it up maybe all this jumping is just to feel my own heart thumping against my own ribcage and each bump is really soft and your eyes are actually dim and I’m lying in the sick bed again my mom clangs a pot downstairs and it lands on my ears lightly . so what if your feet fall-and hit the floor and you come up brighter— I kick a shoe revolves against the wall unraveling— our shoulders crash and we go opposite directions laughing?

that must be why (I want to believe— the music brims from my heart currents through my arms) we can’t help throwing ourselves again and again at it

yea maybe it’ll never hold me maybe I’ll never leave the spot I started from but every shoulder knocks me back here with warmth and it gets so warm it almost feels like the sun…

art & photo | Michelle Zhang & Yueyang “Matilda” Peng