NOTHING IS RANDOM THERE IS MEANING IN THE CHAOS

ancient chinese gold wall drip past passionate flame thrower dance
we run trenchant through the puddles of the world we drained
crash symphonic into post-arthritic buildings chanting death destruction
capital oceans vast and uncharted wrap around your wide hips like destiny
and here we are laying on the beach drunken stupor past half vodka midnight
you sweet cherished moment gone but parading around me like looping vhs
like a bad trip like mountains crumbling at the feet of a tomorrow that promises
not to be anything like the day before for better or worse

i promise you this
what fills up the holes in the bottom of my pockets
and this fastly depleting heart

COPYRIGHT BRICE MAIURRO 2016

Author: brice maiurro

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

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