VINCENT

i dug a tunnel to chinatown trying to escape the happiness that i had built for myself
cracked seven mirrors erased hours upon hours of footage of me taking acting lessons trying to figure out how to best play myself
if anyone tells you they always know who they are, they are lying
some days we wake up on the floor and it takes all the sunlight in us just to get back into bed
blankets build like cocoons but we don’t always come out with wings
nature can be a bitch
life can be unexciting
black without white is meaningless
sometimes war are fought in hopes of peace
somedays we are all all are mistakes

maybe the love poem is that i’m trying so desperately not to write a love poem about you
but you’re there, sifting through the stitches that tie my heart to my arms
and my arms hang tree to tree in the pending summer just hoping to be a hammock for you to rest your restless love in

cancel my subscriptions
burn my bills
take every word i’ve ever written chop it up and tally the words i’ve used the most
see the patterns in the madness the song that unfolds when you just close your eyes
cannibalize myself
my obsession with destruction is each time i rebuild
i dream of being an astronaut, a teacher, a homeless prophet
but i remember that all i want to be is the person i was before
just better

i ran from it all
i ran from family
i ran from love
from earnest truth
from boredom
god damn did i run so hard from boredom
but that shit is everywhere
and if you can hear the music that plays
when the record ends
when the needle just slides along the edge unwilling to give up
if you can hear the music there
you got it all

and i’ve got it all
each star in my sky assigned a name
frida and jean-michel and andy

i call that one vincent
he’s my favorite

and when my clouds roll in
vincent is still there
him and they still patrol the ethers
watching the stupid mistakes i make
less like a biopic
and more like trashy reality television

they still look up at us
always on fire they are
always on fire
always in love
always ready to swim through
the same black sky
never to find
anything but everything and nothing
and everything and nothing and nothing
and nothing and nothing and wow wow wow
am i the love i see in you and everyone

COPYRIGHT BRICE MAIURRO 2016

Author: brice maiurro

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

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