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It's All in Your Head


by Darryl Price


The terms of a broken heart, I guess I never
got to read them. But they must be
something awful, something numbing, something no sane person
would ever agree to. You're already on the verge

of becoming nothing I can remember without a photograph being
shoved in my face. Like a ceremonial mask, 
the terms of a broken heart, that's not 
my signature, is it? The violin is not my 

spirit animal. The terms of a broken heart, you stop
breathing, or something like it. Am I strong 
enough to carry on as if we've discovered 
another new fire that will mean as much all 

our lives through? That's what it's like, the terms of
a broken heart, playing dead while the bullets 
fly. You were the friend I always dreamed 
of, not just floating away like a small blue 

balloon. I didn't think it would hurt so much, constantly
seeing you again in every new face. My 
tears are like ice. The terms of a 
broken heart, and here you are demanding a new 

lonely chance be taken. Asleep on the sand, all I 
see are the lost thoughts of a forgotten 
dream, trying desperately to come to the surface 
again with a cold splash to the face. I 

shouldn't give it that much of a listen. I should've 
learned my lesson. The terms of a broken  
heart are shit. I find it hard 
to live, not touch the small of your back.  



Bonus poems:




  
A Beginner's Guide to Something or Other

by Darryl Price


Certain people just know how to sing back 
to some things, calling from stone or through red 
bone, to accept the gift of a new song 
and make it their own for awhile. Of course 
you'll be entrusted to give it away 
again because it is a wild thing and 
thus belongs to the endlessness of sky 
and the warm inviting branches of the 

timeless guardian trees. It's the only 
way we can show great care for all beings. 
If healing is to be done then begin 
it until you finish--the result will 
always mean the same as a miracle. 
You must learn to say goodbye as you smile 
and say hello as you ache. It's not a 
mad riddle of any sort, but it's an 

open path, a path of do no harm. Your 
role is to be, not to own anything, 
but ever to acknowledge the living 
edge wherever it confronts you or takes 
your hand with true human humility 
and empathy. They suppress that kind of 
simple lovely thought throughout the concrete 
centuries only because they feel they 

alone are entitled to the power 
and we are not. They beat us to death and 
burn our beautiful poems, but still we 
live on and sing on every tongue's measured 
breath like mushrooms or berries. That's because 
there is a nourishment that will not be 
denied for long. It comes from our own hearts
and independent minds and protects us. 



Wake by Darryl Price



up, sleepyhead! The world is
beautiful, if you are. Brave,
if you are. Curious, if
you are. The world is sick and

dangerous, if you are. Wake
and evoke a sense of home. 
Have a seat. The world is a
comfort, if you are. Kind and
generous, if you are. Why

do you feel lethargic when
you have this pretty poem
in your pocket? Shit or fun,
if you are. I'm not against

you having fear, I'm for you
having hope. I'm not against
you telling lies, I'm for you
telling the truth. Not against
your square, for a big circle.

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