I’ve learned that a small amount of painkill
blooms into a heartbreak, just as the moon
sinks in the ocean, smears and dissolves,
depleted by the longest of hopeful nights.
There was a time when all that love made sense.
And yet, we are back home now, reproducing
clichés, reshaping the ancient mistakes,
blending snot with tears to repaint the stairs.
Something in me wants to go out there
and buy some fresh new underwear
but the universe has got a different idea,
important things to burn before it Big-Bangs.
There’s no hope—should’ve always known—
but in the angry alleys, the overlit corners,
in the heart of those who don’t give a fuck,
go about determined not to fear forever.
I must say: I loved you with ripe fondness,
even if you were a terrible thousand miles
away from me and all that you wanted to be.
Leave your letters in the dead drop tree.
Aleksandar Hemon writes fiction, nonfiction, screenplays, and poetry. He makes music and DJs as Cielo Hemon. He produces videos featuring his music and poetry. His poetry collection Godspotting is forthcoming in November 2026. He teaches at Princeton University.
