Prozaic Poetry

[Yes, prozaic with "z" ;)]

Why do I keep

coming to these

open mic poetry nights thing?

It's pathetic

how lonely my poems

feel laying down on the

yellowish ruled pages of my Moleskine.

It's just pathetic

how the ink wants

to bleed its way out

of these

yellowish ruled pages of my Moleskine.

Is it really just

my poetry,

product of the void

eating my little humanity alive?

Or is it its author

laying bare naked

on top of these

cold lines from the

yellowish ruled pages of my Moleskine?

Do you really

want to know

why

I keep

coming to these

open mic poetry nights thing?

Dear?

God?

You know how people

go to bars, get a little drunk,

expect a beautiful, tall,

blond, blue-eyed, intelligent,

complex but not complicated,

very affectionate,

wild but not crazy girl,

between the age of

24 and 30,

preferably Aries, Aquarius,

Leo or Sagittarius

to sit next to them,

be in the same wavelength,

talk, laugh, challenge,

perhaps slightly touch,

pretend that it's too loud,

she can't hear them, so she

has to get closer.

And all of this in the

amount of time it takes you

to finish your favorite drink?

Well, that's what I do at

open mic poetry nights thing.

I drink poetry,

I get girls drunk

with my poems,

I talk, I make them laugh,

I challenge them,

I touch them, and it's not

just slightly touch.

I pretend like nobody else does

that it's-too-loud-I-can't-hear-you deal,

so I have

to get closer, I have to

make them feel the warm

air coming out of my

poetic mouth:

I take them home,

I make love, this is why

I'm a poet;

they fuck, this is why

they are just girls.

I feel metaphors

crawling up and down my

spine, there are rhymes

coming in, coming out,

in and out.

In. Out.

Beautiful.

The last stanza

and the climax.

That's what I tell myself.

That it was poetic...

how I turned the lamp off,

how all that remained was

the dull light of a cheap neon

sign reflected on my window.

And you dare to fuckin'

ask me why I keep coming to these

open mic poetry nights thing??

You fuckin' heartless prick,

I keep coming back

because I have not yet found love.