Rappers and Strippers and Poets! Oh MY! 12/11

The thunderous calamity
of wann be pole dances
stomp through the ceiling
and Our words

were almost swallowed up
by sweating shrills
and ciroq on ice.
The rhythm of mismatched tracks
falling in between each other
jarring the background
until the message is so muffled
it screeched down unfinished,
purple painted walls.
Concrete adversity
creates the Basement
where venue
meets the value of the verse
and drowns out the competition,
the incessant annoyance
where intellect and sweat
never met,
until even Jamie Foxx's flow
filtered in the background.
The savage sundry of syllables
swing beyond a slam,
evolving into an event
that explodes
beyond the confines of contraversy
to continue
the movement
of Poetry.