Blues #2

he mourns the death of being a manchild
he thinks to himself this is the end this is it
after tonight i will be a manchild no more
i will no longer have the distinct privilege
of not acknowledging so many specific realities
and he takes all his paint-spattered action figures
and he throws them down the garbage disposal
and he flips the switch like an old-timey frankenstein
movie and he hears them crushed and crushed hard
under the weight of a future that will certainly swallow
him whole like a giant black whale that flies in from the
coast and as he walks his unread books to the corner
bookstore the whale’s black eyes open wide and swallow
him into the vacuous truth of it all

and then there it is
the vacuous truth of it all
the pain is better
it was pain that made the mountains
and the city he grew tall in

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Author: brice maiurro

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

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