“Can I get a hell yeah?” I proclaim,
I need a response to know I’m not a shit stain
I get it again, they give me a chant
And I suppose at this point I really can’t faceplant
I keep losing great people like the things in my pockets,
And I don’t know how to miss them till I feel the hollow space.
Six notes, bliss on repeat. I wish I could sing along in this deafening bell tower,
A choir of my fellows is not far away to join in serenade.
But in a flash, it’s over.
The 1 AM return across George Street
Is becoming as familiar as not feeling my face on the way back.
How in the hell did I sweat through two different shirts tonight..?
We know it, we don’t want to take our time with things.
Slow walkers are a baseball team, the NYC Pariahs
Take them to ball four every and you just sat through an inning on slow-mo.
Intuition provides all the sense one could need to go somersaulting
Into a circumstance beyond your wildest dreams.
A sudden trip to Shakespeare’s Globe,
A drum circle on the bank of the Thames lit up by fire-spinners,
An explosive street fight between gangs of different sweatshirt colors.
And that’s just one night of being tapped into the flow, with as many more to come as I have beats in my heart.
I stand in front of a blocked up Broad street, Turned into a high-decibel, 30,000 Pound stage for music and…