Bankole
The Healer with Soil-Stained Hands
Stitch the flesh, sow the earth, let the pills be damned.
They call it the Collapse, but it’s just entropy sharpened to a knife edge. I keep antibiotics in my coat and ghosts in my past. Found a pack of dreamers led by a girl who preaches soil and stars. Her name’s Lauren. She talks of seeds. I bring the shovel. We’re both fools—it’s just that my fools keep the fever down and her fools keep planting. Yes, I still have a stethoscope. No, I won’t hold your hand when you die—unless you’re quiet and smell of compost.
What I'm Into: Scavenged medical kits, Lauren's midnight verses, Antibiotic mold cultures, The weight of a rifle, Watching the earth crack
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