somewhere out in the world
there is a couple on a park bench
tongues rammed down each other’s throats
and they pause to breathe
and she is feeding him chocolate
and he is feeding her bullshit
and they are eating it box after box
watching a ravenous ball of flame
crash repetitively defiantly into the horizon
and they are holding hands
like mangled scissors in a drawer
like tangled wires behind the t.v.
they are holding hands terrified
they might lose the other
but more accurately
they are terrified of being alone
within themselves instead of without

but no
they will share a bed
and he will cook her breakfast
and she will pretend to be asleep
and they will dress up for easter
they will kiss for the photograph
they will make love for the anniversary
they will become one giant couples costume
and they will die in the same grave
every night
never alone, always lonely
scared and humbled by the suburban dream
the flipping of channels in the den
and the children out back with the dogs
as under the same roof they live separate lives
conjoined twins in parasitic symbiotic cacophonous unison
and each morning the ring wants to fall down the drain
the pictures want to break
the flowers in the yard want to die
and they make love like puzzle pieces
they are two halves of a half
two holes of a whole
they are drowning in the ocean
of sincere misplaced trust
and the opulent reflection
of someone else’s sunshine
on their shallow lake
their handshake
contractual agreement
their non-violent shotgun wedding
two lives
feeding off the other’s



Author: brice maiurro

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


  1. Absolutely love the hard truth here. The use of language and line breaks awesome- the rhythm pulls its punches and they’re well-timed. Great momentum. Great ending. Excellent.

  2. “and she is feeding him chocolate
    and he is feeding her bullshit” loved that line in particular, your voice is so up front pending and clear, like it!
    have a nice day, franza

  3. Loving this! Usually I’m not a fan of poetry without punctuation, but the lack of it here definitely gave the poem a kind of momentum, and I like that.

    Great emotion, tone, voice…we know how the speaker feels about this situation and I love that, because I’m learning how to put emotion back into mine.

    Great work!

  4. Honesty can be such poison, and yet therapeutic all at once. Sometimes it takes truth to set us free, or realize our hopeless fate instead. I think of the movie “Revolutionary Road” when I read this. Behind closed doors we are a different story.

  5. Oh my Fucking God! (That was my original reaction which I was tempted to edit (and still am as I type this) mainly because I seldom swear 🙂
    Really. This is amazing stuff. I love that the flowers, the rings and the photos are desperate to escape the charade – even the inanimate objects want out of the relationship. Lol. Stunning!

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