JULY 17th 2015

the vines grow so quickly now
this summer feels so much like autumn
like the sun is never rising just always setting
i walk aimlessly around this creaky old home and out the window
i swear i can see snowfall
there’s a strangeness in my own life
there’s oms of lightning in the clouds in my mind
it’s like a depression without the sadness
but it’s not an indifference either
there’s nothing apathetic about the way i feel
it might be contentment
i’ve realized i’m not good at being happy
my mind wanders i get bored i need challenge
i prefer the direction from having something wrong
to the paranoia of being at peace with myself
it’s like when you’re home alone and you think someone
is in your house
i need to work on sitting still
but it makes me feel so damn lazy
i feel like i could build a house from scratch
i have been thinking about those men in history
who built palaces and giant monuments for their lovers
that makes sense to me
i guess i don’t really know what i’m feeling
and maybe that’s what’s got my wires mixed
could i actually just be in the moment?
is this the moment everyone always says to be in?
being in the moment isn’t good for poetry, you know
maybe it is
can you reflect on something as it’s happening?
is it okay to think about the past?
what would the world look like without history?
pretty redundant i’d imagine
those vines grow more each time i look at them
i swear they’re more alive than i am
and i feel really alive
i think

COPYRIGHT BRICE MAIURRO 2015

Author: brice maiurro

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

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