INTERNAL CIRCUS

there’s a bunch of caffeined-up kids playing laser tag in my skull
there’s a homeless man who has taken shelter in my cardboard box gut
there’s a flash flood pouring through my river-veins like the end of days
my fingers have been commandeered by pirates
and they sail on through oceans of indecision

there’s a mime on the soap box of my throat
presenting a great silent sermon but the live studio audience
is fast asleep in my liver

there is a bear pacing the den of the balls of my feet
hungry and impatient he wanders back and forth
a mechanic works on my rusty knees while a prospector
digs for gold in the hills of my knuckles
there’s a riot in the rain in the depths of my stomach
unsettled citizens hold signs protesting a broken society
the inconsistent weather has driven them stir crazy
there is an empty crucifix in my shoulders
wondering patiently if anyone will ever climb aboard
there is no room anywhere in this full house
monkeys swing from chandeliers, wild dogs run rampant
people and every manner of beast is born and dies inside of me
and i bury them all in the graveyard of my lungs
there is something in every section of my being
except for my heart, where i have taken the liberty
of clearing out a room, changing the bedsheets
putting a mint on a pillow so when you come to town
you will always have somewhere to stay

there may be a circus of angels and monsters
flying around inside of me, clawing at my rib cage
but in this tiny room of my heart
i will make certain there is always a reservation
for you

COPYRIGHT BRICE MAIURRO 2015

Author: brice maiurro

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

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