365 Poems – 145 The World Today (Rough First Draft)

 

The World Today

You didn’t used to have cold eyes,

but now they’re like blue gaps.

 

The bones in your legs are warmed

by your laptop, not movement.

We don’t walk anywhere anymore.

 

It’s like I’ve unsettled the world,

and you’re responsible for

everyone else’s reactions.

 

There’s a horrible sense of shifting

transformation. Like the feeling

you have after a horror film,

 

where irrational thoughts of it

are prolonged, and during the day,

when the sun is at its highest point,

and it ought to be impossible

for ghosts to exist.

 

I think I can hear the earth shouting,

describing beautiful things, that

are being abandoned and forgotten.  

The world’s feelings are overgrown

now and lost.

 

I decide to grow my hair long, and,

when I show you where it’s grown

to, after many months, your face

is almost like stone, and I’m just

a mountain in the way, disrupting

the internet connection.  

 

I feel as if I am living as an illustrated

disturbance, and you are just waiting

for when we are old.

 

By then, I want to have been along

roads less travelled. Done things

a little unsuitable. I want to have

looked at the stars, before my eyes

have filmed over.

 

The ghosts of fishnet stockings

have long disappeared.

 

But I have decided that I will grow

my hair past summer, and then,

run and run, until I meet people

 

who are balanced islands,

who don’t do all their talking

through their fingers, who let shadows

lengthen under their eyes.

 

I’m going to be taking my chances.

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