by Brice Maiurro
i, the skeleton, wake up
to find myself buried in the earth
and rising i climb to the surface
all around me fog and moonlight
and there in the distance
i, the skeleton, see an empty flesh suit
so i stumble over and get in
and once i am wearing the flesh suit
i do what people do
i fuck women
i make love with my hands
i plant trees in the ground
i paint portraits of death
i take breath, i give breath
i make clay pots and i smash them
i swing dance to the sounds of the wind
for i know that i am blessed
and that i have been blessed by the earth
it is not every skeleton who finds
a flesh suit to walk around in
observing the sky, the neon signs,
the cathedrals built by fleshy hands
the roads laid down by humble skeletons
backs breaking beneath their flesh suits
and when i am done with this flesh suit
i will once again retire into the earth
and i know that i, the skeleton,
have done my part
that it was enough to be human for a minute
secretly a skeleton
hiding in an otherwise abandoned vessel
Brice Maiurro is a poet and writer out of Denver, Colorado. His poetry has been featured by The Denver Post, Birdy Magazine and Suspect Press. He hosts a monthly poetry series called Punch Drunk Poetry at Mutiny Information Cafe. His first collection of poems, Stupid Flowers, will be out in 2017 through Punch Drunk Press. Brice enjoys pacing around his apartment trying to figure out how to pay rent while eating vegetarian chick’n patties and neglecting to clean up after himself. You can find more of his poems at www.flashlightcityblues.com.
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