Inspired Recollections

Last night I crossed a bridge, hopped on stage, hugged some long missed and brand new treasured friends and here's what came outta my inkwell:

It re-surges again creative urges return as I wonder why I don't just go do this all the time.
Lights get dimmer and the mood is so mellow,
Sipping wine,
enjoying coffee,
and candle lit stories.
When it happens it starts out slow,
to shape and shake and drum and throb and
we all
get down to it
again.
Minds meld making musical sounds,
Not only not new anymore-but wait-was this ever?
It's like an inborn desire to sing and dance and spit words like fire across a cafe,
I see parts of my past smiling into the room and everything is just like no time passed at all.
Like we shared that coffee,
that drink,
that lo mien a sitting in the cafe area like friends just do,
agreeing we love duck sauce and green tea.
Like the time we all chilled in a borough not this one,
or how many nights ended in smoke like a mirage.
Words--
we don't even need em all the time.
I see the rhythm like dust in the lampshade,
like toothpaste on a mirror being wiped clean it comes.
The beat,
the sounds of sweet song in the air.
I mean it-we don't always need an inadequate alphabetic mess that wastes
vowels on whores WHORES! we shout in unison from a canyon.
Songs about old shoes,
postcards,
pictures,
we know all of it so very well those postcards from the edge of sanity.
I shudder to think of all those cards sent and unanswered,
unsent and saved,
unsent and answered in an eerily accurate depiction of my own mad rantings.
Reminders of things that have been so fucked up but now we laugh:
like a relative calling your lover by your boyfriends name,
fucked but ironic,
like friends just being friends at a show, a cafe, a wine bar, that club,
like a kiss you waited years for and lost within a day,
I have no off button
no pause to press
no black line to put across the photo anymore.
So many nights chock full of memories
like your mother spells out asshole with your weed across the carpet,
how we laughed and smoked some more.
Like my roommate flushed my dust but good thing,
cause we ate all her pills that same night-karma-the boomerang.
Bygones.
Bygones like Robitussin and NyQuil,
bygones like a punch in the face over what
a boy-a girl-who even remembers now?
bygones like the way it used to feel to have to lie to everyone about what I really think or where we all really went,
bygones like the fake goodnight walking down the front stairs and circling right up the back,
like swimming in the dirty ocean in a lightning storm and not caring if there's a jellyfish on my shoulder or if it glows.
Pick up a pen and let it all just go,
you make me bleed ink like Cheerios and toast,
familiar like an old friend and the memories just keep on flooding back and back and back.
It's all gonna be alright we all will be alright
that's right.
Ooh profanity doesn't even have enough feeling to expel this all,
there may not be enough words that come close,
A scrawl like knives and I hope its not just us that thinks its all become so
very
very
strange.
Out of range,
out of logic,
out of touch-just don't talk about it too much.
Don't lose the shock value cause if it goes on and on I won't lose my words
but may lose my way
we should PAVE the way
beat drums and yodel
and
just have a sick good time.
Viva la Creativity!