The fans spun above our heads.
Spun the way the man at the bar
Spins and spins and spins
His words into poetry.
Rap; Atmosphere's kin.
I feel his energy;
Twisting, flowing, moving: me.
Someone with so much to say
Says nothing.
Sits alone.
Sips coffee.
Writes; Always writes.
If I could tap into his thoughts,
Even for a minute;
I wouldn't.
You should never tell a child:
"Santa doesn't exist"
Heroes come and heroes go
Spewing confidence,
Wisdom and care.
Drifting drearily down
Memory Lane.
