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Darling, let’s be poor,
and hungry,
and burning for all
the gold this world
isn’t selling,
the light it cannot see.

Let’s dig out our last dollars
and give them to the children
playing under the bridge
just to watch them smile.
Let’s place our faith
in the mercy of strangers
and go hitchhiking
back towards the unspent half
of our childhoods,
back when we had nothing
but felt everything,
and do things for the first time again,
and refuse to go to sleep
until we get our way.
Let’s drive however many miles
is required for us to
shed expensive tears over
the miracle of newly hatched turtles
finding their way home.
Let us be fed up,
and rightfully indignant
about injustices that are
older than we are,
and have our angry voices
counted, and let the strength
in our numbers
end them.

Let us be dreamers, fools,
hopeless romantics.
Let us be brokenhearted
and bleeding,

anything but ordinary

anything but copies
of what has already been
said and done
a million times before.

We’ve come too far
and overcome too much
to start being like everybody else.
Oh, how they get so preoccupied
with the motions
of putting food on the table,
clothes on their backs,
roofs over their heads,
and have nothing of their humanity
left over
to go slow dancing in the twilight,
or carry a conversation over
the threshold of dawn,
or dirty their hands on the dark earth
to plant trees.

Let’s be poor, darling,
and wise, and passionate,
and vigilant in our poverty,

let us be pioneers, visionaries;
let us be insatiable
and rage against the mundane,
the unsoft, the unflowing,
everything that makes
our souls feel small.

The moment we become
we lose it all.

“Couple in the Rain” by photographer Tamara Chernova


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