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Monday, May 20, 2019

Falling Out of Love with the World



Falling Out of Love with the World

I used to fall in love with boys
who played guitars in bands, poets, punks,
entrepreneurs, fledglings who knew how to
kick the cage, thrill seekers who took me
to where they lived, hoping I would sleep
away their sorrows. I'm not sorry I begged

for another dance, one more song, one
more for the road. I would ride
buses across cities for the chance
of a kiss. On our backs, on the hoods
of cars, the violet sky held summer
at bay, long enough for us to write

more poems. Our youth splayed, open
and on display like the attention-seekers
we were born to be. Sold, we craved
the carefree breeze. Once, we were
fearless and wild, threw our heads back:
we shot our laughter into the bulletproof

night. Every town sparkled for us, they
beckoned like broken glass. The shimmer
stuck in our throats, the beauty made us
cry. Just stop. Nothing is fun or pretty
anymore. All your heroes are whores
still haunts me, every time I stand still

long enough to catch
the unhappy ghosts of who
we all used to be.

David-Matthew Barnes

Photo by Warren Wong


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