a band of gypsies
comes bursting through the door
like a cold front

as kitchy objects
towering sky high move
whenever i avert my eyes

the coffee is
cheap
and the conversation is
even cheaper
the devil is nowhere to be found
and it worries me

pots bang in the kitchen
voices ring down hallways
there is a nervous honesty to this place
there is a vicious peacefulness
in a dozen whispers floating between
the flowers of mouths
and the honeycombs of ears

my heart is beating like a paint shaker
this place, it rubs my shoulders
and whispers sweet nothings in my ear
it said exactly what i told it to say
but still
my heart is beating like a paint shaker
i am full of concrete and cold medicine
anxiety like a cold ocean
i daydream about
running out the door
to the refuge
of anywhere
but here

i need to be here
i need to be here

i am in this corner then
that corner
like i’m in a boxing match
with my fears
manifesting themselves as
two fists:
innocence and
tranquility

my heart is beating like a paint shaker
my head was twitch and rattle

i knew lots of ways to die
but this was the one
i feared the most

COPYRIGHT BRICE MAIURRO 2012

READ “RECKLESS”