ENNUI

ennui

i didn’t sleep last night so of course i’m suffering from some god damn ennui. i didn’t know i was suffering from ennui until i stumbled across the word in a haruki murakami book and i had to google and i said oh yeah ennui, that’s me. good old ennui. stuck in the stale air of this room burning the same old incense along with this putrid midnight oil. listening to the same old jazz playlist that reminds me of max in australia and kathryn and logan in the bedrooms next store. i’m such an ungrateful bastard tonight. i’ve got food in the fridge and i’ve got music and yeah i’m professionally single but that’s not what’s bothering me but maybe it’s what’s bothering me. where ya at now, bukowski? with your it’s okay to be lonelies and your stare at the flower staring back at you. all i’ve got is the incense and the jazz and the cheap merlot and the ennui. the blues. whoever invented the ennui didn’t know about the blues and whoever invented the blues didn’t know the ennui. they kept to france and america, respectively.

i didn’t sleep last night. i just plugged away all day and i drove my drive and i read my lines and i stopped at the gas station for orange juice on the way home i think just to do something. just to escape my routine. maybe i should commit a crime. rob a bank in a nixon mask. run through the neighorhood in a monster mask. start a revolution in a guy fawkes mask. i need a mask. i need a sip of this cheap wine hold on.

i need to get rid of this god damn ennui. go to sleep they say. tomorrow’s a new day they say. yeah yeah. you’re not pacing around the room with this ennui riding your back. this incredible demon that spins the hour hands around your internal clocks. it laughs and laughs and chet baker you make no sense right now. how dare you interrupt my ennui with your singing and your playing and your romantic notions. you don’t get my ennui. but i know what a bastard you are behind that angelic costume you’re sporting. you’re not fooling me ya bastard with your trumpet solos. you’re probably chilling with bird right now you bastard. you’re probably knocking boots with marilyn or cleopatra or maybe you’re just sleeping. maybe you’re the one who stole my sleep. chet baker this one goes out to you. this is my sappy little ditty for you. filled to the brim with ennui and carlo rossi wine. ya bastard. you heartless cruel man. i just want to sleep i refuse i refuse. this damn ennui it’s killing me. it’s eating me from the inside out. this ebola. this demon spinning the clocks. this bull in my china shop. this ennui. what a dumb word. ennui. i don’t think it’s a word any more. it sounds fake to me. it sounds phony.

where’s my wanderlust. where the hell did i put my keys and where the hell did i put my wanderlust? did i leave it at the bar with my credit card and my dignity? did i waste a saturday night. oh good lord forgive me for wasting a saturday night. i’m just lying here in bed with my cheap ass wine and my girl ennui. my girl saturday. my neverending restless song. i’m gonna leave you fine folks to it now.

i’m still here. don’t get me wrong. but goodbye. i’m fine really. good bye.

COPYRIGHT BRICE MAIURRO 2014

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Author: brice maiurro

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

11 thoughts on “ENNUI”

  1. Hope you aren’t offended by my saying that your poetry reminds me of the writing of a fine friend of mine, except when he was too stoned to make any sense at all. Don’t be offended, he was a brilliant writer, gifted like you. Thanks for this text, I can’t really place it in a genre….a conversation about life.

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