After all the mad people, the people that were mad for the world had left the room, I stood on the back of the hair of a dog and announced to the room that poetry was dead and those that followed that religion should be labeled as pimps and slaves and should be shot with a bang not a whimper!
Pausing to taste the stagnant air, I gained courage by taking another sip of burgundy and spit it out over the Bohemian whores that had gathered to speak in their pseudo rhythms. I heard my voice scream in more of a mandate than a challenge, letting them know the poets down here, they don't write nothing at all, they just sit back and let it all be. Poetry is the blasphemy for the inarticulate and I've seen the best minds of my generation poisoned with dreams of grandeur for this world. This world of kaleidoscopes dipped in tulip flavored water making love to a French julep by the river Thames with a salty teared kiss from the rain, and other such adjective and noun turned adjective worlds they strip themselves into.
Singer Songwriter Ryan Deblock, my pint faced friend, crammed a drink into my mouth, while inquiring into the nature of music. Feeling like a prophet, with words to savor, I told him when the scythe of art is lowered upon the chaff his will be one that is rewarded as they played by the rules of the oral tradition. I, then, graced him with a smile, fumbling in my pocket for change.
I stuffed another accoutrement down my throat and felt my body collapse onto a couch. The ash flicked off onto my hand, but I didn't care, even over the glow of my ember I looked out at this sad world of pretenders that try to capture poetry and realized I pitied them. While they're making pretty speeches, they're really being ripped to shreds. They try to capture the beautiful when in all actuality, it's something that will never be theirs, they can't even borrow it.
I stabbed my smoke out, with a force strong enough to stop a thousand ships. I had spoken my piece and was free to rise now, to go back to the world of art and a small cabin build there of clay and wattles and other shit.
