Love and Other Poems. Alex Dimitrov

      SUNSET ON 14TH STREET

      I don’t want to sound unreasonable

      but I need to be in love immediately.

      I can’t watch this sunset

      on 14th Street by myself.

      Everyone is walking fast

      right after therapy, texting back

      their lovers orange hearts

      and unicorns—it’s insane to me.

      They’re missing this free sunset

      willingly! Or even worse

      they’re going home to cook

      and read this sad poem online.

      Let me tell you something,

      people have quit smoking.

      They don’t get drinks

      but they juice. There are

      way too many photos

      and most all of us look better

      in them than we do in life.

      What happened? This is

      truly so embarrassing!

      I want to make a case

      for 1440 minutes every day

      where we stop whatever else

      is going on and look each other

      in the eyes. Like dogs.

      Like morning newspapers

      in evening light. So long!

      So much for this short drama.

      We will die one day

      and our cheap headlines

      won’t apply to anything.

      The internet will be forgotten.

      All the praise and pandering.

      I’d really rather take a hike

      and by the way, I’m gay.

      The sunset too is homosexual.

      At least today, between

      the buildings which are moody

      and the trees (which honestly)

      they look a bit unhealthy here.

      They’re anxious. They’re concerned.

      They’re wondering why

      I’m broke and lonely

      in Manhattan—though of course

      I’ll never say it—and besides

      it’s almost spring. It’s fine.

      It’s goth. Hello! The truth is

      no one will remember us.

      We’re only specks of dust

      or one—one speck of dust.

      Some brutes who screamed

      for everything to look at us.

      Well, look at us. Still terrible

      and awful. Awful and pretending

      we’re not terrible. Such righteous

      saints! Repeating easy lines,

      performing our great politics.

      It’s just so very boring,

      the real mystery in fact

      is how we managed to make room

      for love at all. Punk rock,

      avant-garde cinema.

      I love you, reader

      but you should know

      the sunset’s over now.

      I’m standing right in front of

      Nowhere bar, dehydrated

      and quite scared

      but absolutely willing

      to keep going. It makes sense

      you do the same. It’s far

      too late for crying and quite

      useless too. You can be sad

      and still look so good. You can

      say New York is beautiful

      and it wouldn’t be a headline

      and it wouldn’t be a lie.

      Just take a cab and not the 6,

      it’s never once in ten years

      been on time. It’s orbiting

      some other world

      where there are sunsets

      every hour and no money

      and no us—that’s luck!

      The way to get there

      clearly wasn’t written down.

      Don’t let that stop you though.

      Look at the sky. Kiss everyone

      you can for sure.