It’s like the whole country
is at a sitcom
eighth grade dance.
We’ve reached the moment
when the music goes
from fast to slow
and we have to try to adapt
to less of what
we’ve been used to,
except instead
of sudden, awkward proximity
and clumsy touch,
we have to twirl
independently of
one another,
seeking intimacy
while praying
like mad that
music, lights,
and screen itself
do not fade into the credits.
Dark Matter 
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