Out in the parking lot behind the

bar, a moonlight night, cornfield stubble,

a train going by in the distance.

Broken music ringing in your ears, fragments

of guitar, faulty monitors, feedback,

shit vocals you’re sure no one could hear.

Smoking a cigarette, pondering the

course that got you here, knowing

you wouldn’t change anything,

there is no high like when the band plays.

You are the luckiest girl in the world.

Some guys help their drunk friend to his

car, they don’t notice you standing there.

You were a star a few minutes ago, but now

you’re just one shadow of many.

The glow from your cigarette,

the lonely fields,

the heavy air.

by Cher Bibler

this picture is by my friend, Emaus Torres, and it’s used with permission