Beat Poetry General (BPG) is in session. *jazz hi-hat starts*

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Beat Poetry General (BPG) is in session.

*jazz hi-hat starts*

Listen cats.

I dreamed last night that I was a ghost and my father too and we danced for hours without having to worry about the rising prices of soy nor the increasing chance of eye-injuries-by-umbrella during rain season.

Can you dig it?

I woke up and I was floating down the Mississippi-Styx River on a raft. I walked to shore and entered a bar for the dead and forgotten.

This is what I saw inside.

*band enters*

You close your eyes as you step inside.
And the woman sitting in the corner,
drinking empty smiles with a bottle of despair
Oh, delicious crime. Much obliged.
Then the music creeps on from the darkness,
it entangles bodies dancing to the beat.

Come, the Vice Market is waiting.
Taste the sweetness of seduction.
¡Ay! ¡Ay! ¡Ay! ¡Amor, dame una vida!
¿Por qué todo esto es fantasía?

Even distinguished gentlemen have fallen from grace.
But you'll like it better in the gutter
if you remember every whisper in your ear.
The hero dies, the cynic flies.
Then you venture deeper in the market,
when you realize you are never coming home.

Come, the Vice Market is waiting.
Taste the sweetness of seduction.
¡Ay! ¡Ay! ¡Ay! ¡Amor, dame una vida!
¿Por qué todo esto es fantasía?

*submarine invertebrate teleports behind you and claps*