SALT

i won’t
tell you not to
cry
but take
your salt water
and make
it an ocean
and chop down the fences
around your
summer home heart
and make a
boat
and sail to me
sail
to wherever if
not me
than sail into the sun
sail into
dreams that you’ve had
or dream
of the dreams you’ve yet to
dream
because there are planets in the vastness
of your rattling rib cage
and there
are planets
in the vastness of each breath
you swallow
and each you return to fill the space
you left behind
and each penny on the ground
is a child
waiting to be born
we think our thoughts and they kind of
swish around like mouthwash
for a minute
there
and
then when we’re done we spit them
out
into the great rusty pipes of the world
and these baby crocodile ideas
get into the
sewers and in
the sewers they grow into great alligator magnum opus
transcontinental hands held high
in celebration
of not being hate
of not being disappointment
of being the dot beneath the question
mark and not the windy road
that leads the way
and we are not toy soldiers
nor masks nor silent
we are amphitheater
we are starlight and music and unintentional
intention
uninvented invention
the dew that drips from our tongue
trapped in teeth
forced to send carrier pigeons
except when we lower the draw bridge
and let in the inevitable sensation
of another
in one moment of pure recklessness
we invite in waves of sensation
our lighthouse beams
guiding them to the shores of the future
which rest in our hungry bellies
where the salty ocean of our tears
always resides

COPYRIGHT BRICE MAIURRO 2015

Author: brice maiurro

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

9 thoughts on “SALT”

    1. I usually sit down with my first line and I know what I’m trying to say but I don’t know how to say it. Then I just let it run line by line until I figure it out.

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