THE HANDS THAT REACH FOR WINTER

the hands

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

the hands that reach for winter
the nights that reach for pain
the guns that reach for murder
the fire burns the same

the beds that burn for lovers
the streets that turn like time
the art of stabbing in the back
the acidity of lime

the words that clasp like thunder
the planes that land unharmed
every righteous number
that we shoot into our arms

the man from california
the woman from d.c.
every foreign victim
from sea to shining sea

comforter of angels
chancellor of drugs
loving heart of death now
now the death of love

brilliant manifesto
child in the gutter
orphan military
absent-minded mothers

the sermon on the mount
the dusting of the crops
the clicking of the gears
the roller coaster drops

we fall
and we fall
and we fall
some more

we dig our graves
and dance with death

we talk like
virgins

we walk like
whores

we eat
until
there’s nothing left.

COPYRIGHT BRICE MAIURRO 2013

READ “HAIKU #1”

Author: brice maiurro

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

15 thoughts on “THE HANDS THAT REACH FOR WINTER”

  1. For once in my life, I am speechless. Words can’t hold how beautiful this is. Email me your address so that I can break into your house and steal your brain.

      1. You’re welcome 🙂 I write myself, so I’m a bit of a perfectionist freak, although I follow no particular patterns aside from haiku from time to time….

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