A Drum circle beat and the kindled fires light of amber colored sunsets on my mind.
Cold Pbr, Vodka wings,
And another mindless night ahead.
Half hearted ales, Music,
And antiquated hearts beating at a pace.
Walking streets of empty dreams
A scene from The Matrix fills my head.
A cave dwelling society called Asheville.
They Drum the beat of survival
A midsummers night reprival,
For a break from the weekday peril.
A new moon and sweat glistening in moonlight,
I watch the orchestra players composed of baristas, lawyers, and sidewalk grinders collaborating on thoughts put to pulled cow skin drums.
I meet, greet, and kiss upon a cheek masses of people I hope to never meet again.
Themselves and myself we belong apart.
We shall only fall apart again,
In another city.
In another sweaty drum circle.