DOCUMENTARIANS

we tattoo our saints on our skin
whoever they may be
we take still life versions of happiness
and shove them into electronic time capsules
we are documentarians
we plan kisses in the rain
and film them as candidly as we can
we give each other diamonds
we write each other songs just the same
we stick flags in our moons
and try to become immortal
we want to live forever
we frame our successes
and store our failures in attics
we send our past child-support
and we manufacture half me half you hybrid
creatures and stuff them with our ideas
like cotton
we strap them to car seats in the back of
subaru legacies
we pay money to ride giant metal death machines
and eat cotton candy afterwards to celebrate life
we purchase a snapshot of us screaming sitting next to
those we love
we build houses out of thousand-year old trees
(what a superiority complex)
we sit on dated fossil couches
watching the history channels
we visit graveyards
and talk to people with petrified ears
we leave flowers that die
for people who have wilted noses
we burn things we want to forget
and we burn things we want to keep
so we can make intangible memories
the past is always prettier
cities look closer than they appear in rear-view mirrors
we reminisce over reminiscing
in late night diners
telling waiter faces we recognize
that we’ll have the usual
we date our writing
(january ninth, two thousand eleven, 12:34 pm)
we celebrate anniversaries
even our dvr’s and bank accounts have histories
this is a good thing
these are all good things
we are writing post-dated fables to the future
we assign value to objects
and sometimes capitalism wins that battle
but most of the time
they become souvenirs
keepsakes
photo albums
snow globes capturing a world we shook up
posters on the naked walls of our minds
refrigerator magnets that draw us together

death is exiting through the gift shop
buying mementos for the memories we just made.

 

COPYRIGHT BRICE MAIURRO 2012

Author: brice maiurro

Denver poet. Author of Stupid Flowers, out now through Punch Drunk Press.

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