Muscle Memory

Every Saturday night, my feet start to ache. It’s a muscle memory –
One that’s traveled from toes to heart as blood flows at 120 BPM
Because EDM travels in veins. Somehow, we always ended here,
with Rico Alexis and the MDMA go-go boys dancing on light-up tables.
Today, E-Zoo was canceled – two deaths and a sexual assault. Today,
I’m 27 hours away in an apartment with hookah burns on the carpet,
Body aching for Hardwell and Kaskade, for my gays
For my $3 vodka club with a splash of cran and my VIP card
For my socialite status gone clear across the country
Exchanged for these dark monstrosities we call mountains.
But the firings in my calves remember that black liquor-covered floor
And my ocean of blacklights, foam, and abs.

Jennifer van Alstyne has been published in Eunoia Review, Midwest Literary Magazine, The Monmouth Review, Foundling Review, Paper Nautilus and Poetry Quarterly. Her chapbook, Scansioned Music: A Glenn Gould Collection, for which she was the winner of the Jane Freed Grant, is being published by Crossroads in 2013. She is currently the poetry editor for Bombay Gin, the literary journal of the Jack Kerouac School of Disembodied Poetics.

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