Hey ancient brother! How's it going? How's tricks?
Are you still creeping in the shadows
waiting for your incandescent deliverance?
Man I can't believe you're still down here
selling your dark night lines:
a little eros ground and cut
and metaphysically inhaled. How divine!
Don't think that I've forgotten that old time buzz
of whispered sweet nothings
and redemption ready, lucky faults;
O sweet to death baby, sweet to death;
O flourishing hook, O slow burn in veins:
O product of a dealer, fronting as a saint.
Sure, sunshine, they'd say
I got you all wrong yet again:
misinterpreting, misappropriating, misdemeanoring.
But baby we both know, beyond that tiresome joke,
it's not about the text play but the long soak,
it's not about awareness but the barely conscious undertow.
You know I went cold turkey when I left.
Remember you and me, down in that deep,
in our no holds barred slugfest.
O shadow, my shadow, my shadowy soul;
we bust each other up
and we bleed each other whole
and we know out misconceptions
when they break
and we take our sordid fragments and we make
a new day's sounding.
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