last night, the strange man and i went clubbing. to a straight club. hardly acknowledging each other, we chilled in the bar like hustlers scoping out for girls.
when the dj dropped a kanye west joint, the one with adam levine singing the melodic riff, we couldn't help but bob our heads to its syncopated beat.
a poet was once asked the difference between poetry and prose. she said it's something like walking and dancing. walking leads one to somewhere; dancing doesn't. one dances to describe one's joy. and one could go on and on doing it. just being in the same place. exactly where one wants to be.
she calls poetry a danced language.
many drinks later, i took a leak in this washroom that had a busted bulb. after, i walked right back into the bar ablaze with psychedelic lights and saw the strange man tapping his fingers to the beat of this new 50 cent track. i took my seat behind him. and he just sat there, gathering light.
there was only one thing, i thought, i wanted to do that night. and that was to ask him to dance with me. but that was not going to happen. so i just sat there, bobbed my head to the beat, and stared at him. and i realized i could do that all night long.
