In full flight from reality, the angels of madness dwell, with delusions that can only be seen by them, they openly share. All things forbidden by the of conformity, taking on patterns and color, We lay down, exhausted, drawing breath from unseen everywhere.
The beat poet took a box from under his bed, on one elbow, He watched with as I drew life from his perceptions, scrawled out, In pencil, he portrayed life clearly than Ive ever seen it before. Unmasked, the twisted and pleasure of the life of this loser, so brazenly rare.
I closed my eyes and captured moment in time. The words and cadence, and un-rhymed, it plainer and clearer than excerpts, refined.
After meeting for coffee at a caf, I took him to see my new dwelling. Once there, I took out my list of lovers to vex, lighting the corner fire, Reciting an incantation Id made up right and there; his expression The corners of his mouth wryly turned up, his eyes with a fear he knew.
We into each others souls in silence, and he shared in my torment. Like the night I casually read his ranting for hours, the sharing of our souls was a mutual purging and cleansing We released each others imprisoned emotions, all laid and bare.
The poet nodded, as if, with a dare and a snare He took my challenge, and we this, aware Of our with those angels of madness, everywhere.