FOUR BEERS IN AT THE IRISH ROVER (TWENTYSOMETHING IN THE CONFESSIONAL)

i’m stuck in the eye of the storm of my twenties
the wind has all but stopped
but the well is overflowing with craft beers and conversation
vacationing on the island of Denver
summer sun setting on certain opportunities as the opalescent moon rises
a moon that shines like a chunk of my soul set on fire and tossed into orbit
as my mouth waxes and wanes
letting in the words I won’t soon forget and letting out the thoughts I hope the world accepts
praying on my knees above broadway
a floating raconteur, a child blown by the wind torn between utter consuming chaos and financial responsibility
i love the way the void tastes
as i chase this shot of confusion with an ice cold glass of inevitability
who am I are we?
what channels will I subscribe to and where does the wheel stop
i spin that mother fucker hard with intention but that same moon spins winds that no amount of muscle can withhold
let it be
let the chips falls as they will
as I hold the door open for myself
forever the gentleman

COPYRIGHT BRICE MAIURRO 2013

Author: brice maiurro

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

7 thoughts on “FOUR BEERS IN AT THE IRISH ROVER (TWENTYSOMETHING IN THE CONFESSIONAL)”

  1. Don’t wait until your 6th confessional to figure it all out because then it will be too late.

    Good write by you, FlashlightCityBlues…

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