modern love

would it be so bad,
he asks himself
on another night
spent like a thousand
nights before,

to be alone,
to lock oneself away
from a world
full of cuts and bruises;
thorns and thistles–

all the hit and runs
of modern love,
they are meaningless
in the end; they amount
to nothing.

tonight, the stars
shine brilliantly
over a city
full of people
with hollow chests;

they sit low
in the sky like fruit–
you could almost
reach up
and grab them

to bring them down
to fill the hole
in your chest
where your heart
once was–

but all
you get
are shadows filled
with what was,
and is lost.

1/30/17