When the music breaks your heart
by Jay Sizemore
No one expects a heartbreaker
to die of a broken heart,
and are we really going to fall for it again,
this narrative of the lone gunman,
devoid of motive
while those highest in power
pluck and snap the rusty piano strings
of an America in need of a transplant?
These deaths are so senseless and yet
so anonymous, so faceless and separate,
removed from the scenery of our lives
like extras from a movie
we barely pay attention to,
just bodies shuffled through revolving doors
but beneath sheets so their forms
may as well be made from loosely piled stones.
This is what we are now.
Just actors in a play we refuse to acknowledge
because the reality might destroy us.
It’s so much simpler to mourn celebrities.
It’s so much easier to pretend
that the air we breathe isn’t poison,
that the television screen
and its newsfeed scrolling
would never tell us lies.
Just keep buying the product.
Just keep binge watching these stories
of super-human deeds
done by super-human versions
of your super-human selves.
And when you hear that song on the radio,
the one about belonging “somewhere you’ll feel free,”
just close your eyes and imagine it so.