This debut chapbook drifts through static-filled speakers and streets that never empty. These poems unfold in back rooms, on city buses, beneath broken signage - places where the sacred shows up. A priest walks into a bar. A girl draws her family into condensation. Someone prays, or just stands very still. The language cuts close: raw, immediate, unsentimental. Nothing is polished - just held up to the light. Grief, lust, memory, and distance move through these pages like noise through a wall. Not confessional. Not detached. Just honest. For readers of Ocean Vuong, Kim Addonizio, and Kaveh Akbar, this chapbook offers a brutal kind of grace. A liturgy for the overlooked. A hymn for the ones who are drawn to edges, distortion, and moments that don't resolve.