A new poem by Hera Lindsay Bird.
COLORADO SPRINGS 1989
After David Berman
whenever I get lonely I go to department stores
and wander around
looking at all the t-shirts with made-up names and dates on them.
some days I think it’s almost sweet
this collective longing for an imaginary past
if they weren’t so obviously made by kids in sweatshops
these days, obvious things are the only ones that seem worth repeating
i walk through the park
and everything is so deep and green
it feels like touching the g-spot of christmas
well if i die in the night, tell everyone i love i love them
but my preference is to keep on living
i think a lot about life
and how much of it has been wasted on me.
i’ve started to wonder recently if nostalgia is just another kind of brain damage
sometimes when i read back through old poems i think
did i actually believe that or was i overcompensating for something?
still, the past comes back to me in flashes
well maybe it’s lazy, to write about the failures of writing
but Pete Townshend broke over 35 guitars in 1967 alone
now whenever i miss you, i just try not to think about it
besides i never liked the episodes of tv shows that were just one long highlights reel
always Ross with a turkey on his head
when the truth was it wasn’t that funny the first time around
these days, I’m trying to learn to let things go
whatever you said to me then
when you said it i heard it
Colorado Springs, 1989
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