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I picture an elephant wearing boxer briefs with read hearts printed on them.
And when those hearts break, a rain storm forms
and a lightning bolt crashes
him on top of the head
and after the lightning bolt
there came a rose
growing vibrant, loud
from the elephants skull and when the thorns
fell out they became eyelashes
eyelashes that beat down every second
a rain drop drummed on the windowsill
and when those eyes were open
they looked over at a the neighbor’s house next door
and the couple have their first child
vibrant, loud
crying and they don’t know
how all the water of the world
weighs down on the rose
wakes up six years later
every night not wanting to fathom
what happens to the world
after he falls asleep.
purple shapes, blurred and obscure,
He calls them elephants
or things not too often talked about,
drift behind his eyelids
and for every heart beat
he knows there’s another one out there breaking
and what he doesnt know is the girl in the window
is counting the seconds she’s alive
every time she beats her eyelids down
and breathes easier
knowing that for at least a second
the world disappears
Samuel Maurice (c) November 29, 2019