Poetry

Open Mic Night

Everyone’s singing a different tune

with the same words

as lyrics,

doom and gloom and toxic fumes

are the stanzas sung

at the open mic

while the old poets and pseudophilosophers

snap their fingers in applause

of the old new (or was it the new old?)

refrain;

it was when that poet took the stage

with nothing but the words

of an old fashioned ode

to love and the ones they loved

that the fingers did not snap–

wanting to show the poet contempt

while secretly drying their eyes

 

 

 

 

 

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