i hope you’re happy
i can’t go to sleep because of you
i can’t even close my eyes because of you

i can’t dream because of you
i can’t reset my soul
or digest my day
or forget the moments of terror because of you

i can’t shake these grasshoppers in my jar
i can’t shut off the rush hour traffic in my head
this red eye flight seven-thirty-seven
crashing against the wall of my skull
i can’t float down this night river because of you

i can’t sleep with the television turned off
i can’t sleep with the television turned on
i can’t god damn do a thing but type this god damn
this stupid fucking poem and my eyes are so heavy
and my neck is so sore
and the nightmares just float on the ceiling of my room
and the ghosts of my ex-girlfriends lay starry-eyed beside me

it’s all backwards
someone left the fridge open
i can’t get out of bed
the house is so god damn cold
i can’t stop thinking about you
i can’t forget this adolescent reckless rock opera
that i spewed at you as if i could carve you into loving me
with the sound of my voice
and this was ages ago
and who you are is ambiguous
even to me
nothing is clear
i’m just living inside of this heckling
cumulonimbus cloud
this cumulonimbus cloud that just fucks with me
and i’m drowsy
nyquil drowsy
driving on coffee fumes through utah at night drowsy
less than a quarter tank of gas
and it’s running out
the belligerence in requiem form
i can feel it running out
but my old bones in my young skin still ache
my old soul in my battered rib cages still coughs
and sits by my fireplace heart
and rocks in his cliche rocking chair
and why won’t you let me sleep?
i just wanna sleep
i just want need to not be in this world
for a few hours
eight or six
i’d even settle for four
to help me remember how much i love this world
to help me remember
and to provide the eulogy
for this ugly cloud
this stupid cloud that just thunders
and never has the courage to lightning



Author: brice maiurro

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


  1. I like that this begins almost as a person, then it progresses to mythology in mind and soul, an untraceable emotive element solely taking province in your mind and then it becomes you, you who fevers without sleep and all the while you lull us, the reader, into thinking we are you and we are this thing simultaneously. Your rambles are always so powerful Brice.

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