Five days from now, Bobby Rush will step down off a sweat-slick stage in Jackson & back— quietly as a porcupine ducking underground— into
durable and quick like the solar system, pads like planets rotating, leathered over years, slow tender fruits beyond the membrane, everything pink like the
Like constellations spotted in a pond the turtle carries on its back 13 moons on outer basal grey. 28 days, in small scutes brightly