they say that you never sleep
that you’re a restless insomniac
pacing eyes wide open around your tiny apartment
looking out the window
not suicidal, but kind of curious what would happen
if you jumped

this is me saying
that if you want to lay on my couch and close your eyes for a minute
that’s okay with me

yes i know we’ve never met
yes i’m aware how creepy that makes me seem
but you’re beautiful

i know you’re photogenic
your eyes sing electric
your veins pulsate with life
you stand tall
like an old woman who hasn’t forgotten the value of posture
of asserting your power
of letting the world hear the roar of your subway arteries
to feel the steam that pours out from the holes in your skin
your bloodshot eyes twinkle

i can hear fuzzy radio in windows
i can hear back alley whispers
i can hear the distorted blackbox beneath the debris
it keeps you up at night i know
the room spinning like a mobile above your bed
a gospel chorus of two thousand nine hundred and ninety six ghosts

i can see the scars beneath the bandaids
i can hear the crick in your bones
i can see the limp in your step, the shell shock in your eyes

this is me saying
if you want to lay on my couch and close your eyes for a minute
that’s okay with me

exhaustion reminds us
that we’re supposed to stop and dream

close your eyes

que sueñes con los angelitos



Author: brice maiurro

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


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