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International Cello Day


by Darryl Price


Losing interest. We're all just 
the same children underneath, strawberries. 
The crouching sun. Don't be 
precious. I want to talk with you 
about everything that means nothing. 
I don't want to join your subscriptions 

army. Sorry. I'd rather 
just be with you and not worry 
about where we are in the 
grand scheme of eternal things. I 
don't want to leave this life behind. 
Today is International 

Cello Day. It's windy. They don't 
want to read my poetry. We're 
all just dreaming, jellyfish. Windy. 
Don't be a beast. Is Goodbye 
World too much of a lost art? Losing 
interest quickly. Fading 

outside your window. We're all just 
cringing, stuffed animals-- dying 
into your arms just to hear you 
love me. Into your around and 
around intwined magic, arms. Don't 
be a weirdo or lost. I thought 

that I was getting better at 
this stuff. They don't want to read. Losing, 
all interest. We're all just 
blowing away, every day. This 
problem, feeling of the air. This 
regal promise, feeling of that 

word, world. Wish I was a seahorse 
about to make the most out of 
a floating strand of seaweed. Do 
you, could you understand? Losing
interest, no surrender. We're 
all just floating. My poetry 

means nothing to them, but trouble. 
I want you to know. We're all just 
reaching for each other, for any 
hope for change to grow. They don't
want to tell anyone, but it's 
a lie that doesn't come easy. 

Losing interest. What's playing? 
What time does it come on, the sun 
go down? Why don't we go out to 
dinner somewhere, look at yourself, 
wind advisory. I want you, 
not what you've got, your hand in mine. 
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