SOLSTICE APARTMENT SONG

this beard is an aftereffect of me vacating your life
i cannot tell if i’m blossoming in the soil of this apartment
or if i am drowning in dead hair

i want to say that i will continue to grow this beard
until i love myself in a way that is both stable and honest

i want to say that i will continue to grow this beard
until i am no longer seeking happiness
until i can acknowledge what is so plain to see before me:

i am an old man
blind and crippled
down on my knees
searching endlessly for the glasses
that were placed on top of my head
all along

if happiness were a snake it would have bit me
it would have swallowed me whole
and warm in its womb
safe from everything
i would call it overwhelming and temporary

i shirk off rain drops
and drink from my own bathwater

with no pants on
i watch documentary after documentary
on enlightenment
in the dark
on my couch

i trip over my ego
i remove all the mirrors in my house
and put up self-portraits in their place

i have read the first chapter of so many books

i have almost dedicated myself to so many lives

i have fifteen watches
and none of them tell the time correctly

the gilded domed theater of my head though
it’s a fucking renaissance in there
beneath a shining chandelier
sit hundreds and hundreds of patrons
brushing the heat of the revolution on stage off their pale faces
in the gilded domed theater of my head
a mad-haired composer splays his four arms
he commands a war of music
a renaissance
dark deep drums pounded
this ship rows thick through the trenches
violins
the friction of thought with contact

the friction of exhaustion with dream

the friction of chaos with grace

you do not need other people to know what love is

COPYRIGHT BRICE MAIURRO 2016

Author: brice maiurro

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

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