Creatures of My Subconscious

Walking through the alleys of great cities
That melt into valleys of culture,
Figures of my imagination cannot transcend
and will not transcend the glorious soil upon which I walk.
I balk at the mere thought of leaving this incarnation of my wildest fantasies.
The beasts of my subconscious are here with me.
They sit at the same cafés and make noise.
They are not well-liked among Europeans.
They overwhelm my quieter friends.
Dejection takes his coffee with a splash of milk, nothing more.
Ecstasy doesn't talk much. 
He takes too much pleasure in solitude.
Outside forces perturb him.
Self-Consciousness combs his hair and utters well-measured statements.
Creativity wanders, perpetually resting in a milky-way of sentiments.
He is a good friend,
But I envy his frequencies.
He lounges on far-off planets and munches on asteroids,
Sipping from the glass of infinity.
He can never be found at his apartment,
Nor does he organize his thoughts in neat compartments.
I have tried 
And tried
To attend his parties,
But he is too busy flirting with life and truth
To send me an invitation.
I want to be a guest at his grand ball,
Please, friend, don't let me fall.
Let your sacred waters fall
Into my cup.
I want to go up and up,
And recline with the divine.
Come down, friend, please come down
From the clouds.
The world is too loud,
And shrouds Inspiration.
I cannot see him from across the café table.