Past the crumbling grey fountain;
At the first merchant, turn on the cobblestone path,
Walk in the shadows until you come to a ‘T’.
Creep left toward the flickering light.
When you reach the lantern, turn sharply.
Look at the alley cloaked in black.
You hear their ghostly whispers
Crescendo harshly and pitch swiftly down
Shadowy faces rise like ashes in smoke.
They circle like sharks in a hungry haze.
Rusty blades pierce the skin on your throat
Don’t let your stare drift away from their fiery gaze.
Narrow your eyes and strengthen your stance
As they approach with flying feet and knives for hands
This fateful fight is their own kind of dance
This brawl is your only chance
A union of misfits, writers, speakers,
Igniters, and fighters who pray for sin
are raising steepling fingers.
I hope they let you in.