and we sat down
grasped around the charcoal pencil
and we drew out a future

a three-bedroom house
with wood floors
and shutters
dog runs by
yada yada yada

the black soot bled
across the page
and i said look how real

you said real
what is real
what is outside of this
house that we drew
what is the world
and i said
i don’t know

i know less than you ever will
i know the sound between sounds
and i know that hunger that never fades
the one that wakes you up
eyes all neon aquarium
clown fish swims by
and you fall back into your beautiful
innocent slumber

and so we did

and the house we built
i hung on a wall in the attic
but it was just paper thin
and you were just paper thin


Author: brice maiurro

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

4 thoughts on “PAPER THIN”

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