the get down

down here
where the mere whisper of inspiration
silhouettes itself against a flicker
and cuts stencils of its own shadows
spray paint sprinkled against bricks
still dripping

is where

the house band demands spare inklings
in exchange for masked epiphanies
forced into danceable signatures of space

and shields us from the direct rays of light
by refracting the soul shattering pillar of syllable
into manageable morsels

down here the kitchens never open
but the hungers always met

thick as thieves
there's no strangers or friends
as such
simply communion
and the irrefutable execution
of,  i cant remember the word for it
but it gets passed around
often enough to catch
a contact high

down here
beyond the bellows of the tangible
is where the mind wanders when restless
and where the weary wanderer refreshes

down here
where the mortar is indistinguishable
from metaphor
there is a secret society hidden in plain sight
that adheres to a strict discipline
of ecstatic actuality
and seriously absurd


note: this is a slightly reworked older piece
Written by lightbaron
Published | Edited 5th Apr 2013
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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