JULY 17th 2015

the vines grow so quickly now
this summer feels so much like autumn
like the sun is never rising just always setting
i walk aimlessly around this creaky old home and out the window
i swear i can see snowfall
there’s a strangeness in my own life
there’s oms of lightning in the clouds in my mind
it’s like a depression without the sadness
but it’s not an indifference either
there’s nothing apathetic about the way i feel
it might be contentment
i’ve realized i’m not good at being happy
my mind wanders i get bored i need challenge
i prefer the direction from having something wrong
to the paranoia of being at peace with myself
it’s like when you’re home alone and you think someone
is in your house
i need to work on sitting still
but it makes me feel so damn lazy
i feel like i could build a house from scratch
i have been thinking about those men in history
who built palaces and giant monuments for their lovers
that makes sense to me
i guess i don’t really know what i’m feeling
and maybe that’s what’s got my wires mixed
could i actually just be in the moment?
is this the moment everyone always says to be in?
being in the moment isn’t good for poetry, you know
maybe it is
can you reflect on something as it’s happening?
is it okay to think about the past?
what would the world look like without history?
pretty redundant i’d imagine
those vines grow more each time i look at them
i swear they’re more alive than i am
and i feel really alive
i think

COPYRIGHT BRICE MAIURRO 2015

11:30

two birds on top of a burning building
they pay no mind to the fire until they have to
they are red-breasted and consumed
by the mad sweet company of each other
a snapshot from a much longer film
they plant their feet like trees when they touch
because there’s no time to get carried away
and when the time comes
feathers ruffled. dizzy and imbalanced
away from the flames they caused
they fly separate ways
and it was worth it
it was worth it
it was worth it

COPYRIGHT BRICE MAIURRO 2015

DEAR MARIA

dear maria
i do not know who you are
but somehow you’ve snuck your way into my poetry
so here we go

maria
as you go out into the night light
make sure to wear your coat
hold up
i’m not your fucking father, maria
do what you want to

maria
this may not be easy
you and me
we hardly know each other
but i have to write you a poem

dear maria
there’s a lot of people in this world
probably too many
the thing about people is
they really like to have sex
and sex without protection feels better
but it also creates more people
god is all about the conundrums

dear maria
are you god?
you might be
i don’t know you
but i’m certain you are out there
and i feel compelled to talk to you

dear maria
remember that in the scheme of things
we are the youngest people to ever live
and more people have died for you
than any time in history
assuming you prescribe to the concept of
linear time
but i feel like that’s important
either way
be grateful
when you’re hungry
be grateful
when you feel you’ve got it all
and you did it all yourself
be grateful
people drop dead all the time
also don’t fear death
or the idea that you could drop dead
right now

why am i compelled to give you advice, maria?
maybe i should shut my mouth and listen to you
put my ear to your sea shell heart
and hear the ocean

assuming you have a heart
maybe you’re a jellyfish
i think jellyfish don’t have hearts
do you know, maria?

maria
promise me this
sit on a wooden floor
with headphones on
and listen to a record player
don’t let it move the needle for you
move the needle for yourself
if there is no heaven
this is heaven
we are pretty good
at synthesizing our dreams
in the face of the fear
that they may not come true

dear maria
your heart will be broken
by an asshole
and you will be an asshole
and break someone’s heart
and then there’s another heartbreak too
oh yes there’s several kinds
but the kind i’m thinking about is the one
where neither of you was an asshole
when there’s just white noise between you
and you have to step away
that one has its own flavor of hurt
be ready for that one
but you can’t be
just a warning
a borderline useless warning

and plus
you might be old and wise and full of heartbreak
maria
tell me about your heartbreaks
are you in a place to tell me about your heartbreaks?

dear maria,
get dessert at salad buffets
another good option
is to avoid salad buffets

dear maria
i want to dance with you
not romantically
well maybe
but i think i want to dance with most people
people should dance more
and sing more
it drives me nuts that people give me strange looks
when i sing while i’m walking
keep singing
do not reduce yourself to humming
or whistling
avoid silencing your songs at all costs

but also
enjoy awkward silences
(

)
i have mastered them
i plant my garden in their empty plot

no maria
i am not on drugs
i am just a poet
and it’s one in the morning

dear maria
do not underestimate strangers
acquaintancy is the canvas of
strange sincerity
sometimes you can only unload
your hot irrational jukebox tracks
on bus stop furniture people

i love you, maria
that might not be real love
but right now it’s pretty good

dear maria
i cannot decide if i am sincere and dramatic
or facetious and random

have fun out there
writing with crayons on the walls of time
and throwing things into the void

hold onto this poem

COPYRIGHT BRICE MAIURRO 2015

SAINT ROBOT

if i were a giant robot
i wouldn’t ravage the city;
that is just a stereotype
of giant robots

i would just sit and meditate
in the middle of
central park

i’m sure a few park-goers
would be crushed
beneath the extreme weight
of my shiny metal ass

look
i’m a giant robot
trying to obtain enlightenment
i’m not a saint

COPYRIGHT BRICE MAIURRO 2015

LISTENING TO WARPAINT

i have only one single tear for you
the one that you left behind
and as it falls down my face
twists down my shoulder
then my arm and off the tip
of my fingertip i realize
that what we had was a war
and i never meant to go to war
but i did and what i found
is that when we both
want to be at war
it’s probably because we’re both
afraid of what peace
would look like
i think this thought
and then i let it go
off of my cheek like the single tear
which is now gone
staining the cardboard bottom
of the box of your stuff
as your aura
evacuates my apartment soul
and you are somewhere else
and someone else i hope
i hope i made you someone else
which is a weird thing to hope
but when you’re sitting around
listening to Warpaint at 2:30
in the dark pupil of the night
back and forth in a hammock
and across the black river
in a rowboat of your doldrums
sometimes you hope for weird things
and these weird things you hope for
are things that you never hope for
when surrounded by reasonable company
at what has been deemed
reasonable hours to keep

thank you for your time
and your kind donation
to the dismal poetry
of my restless bum poet soul
which is my favorite to write

COPYRIGHT BRICE MAIURRO 2015

A SUNDAY IN JULY

i woke up this morning with different hands
i just sat in bed for fifteen twenty minutes
studying the new length of my fingers
the new grit of my touch
i traced the lines up and down my palms
trying to decode whose lifeline i was looking at

i walked around the house with someone else’s bare feet
my calloused toes meandering the cold wood floors
i paced endlessly through the halls of my home
my home can i even call it my home
i try desperately to understand this new balance
i don’t recognize the air that enters my lungs
or the way my body sends it flowing to my foreign joints

i look into the mirror at a face that is not my own
crow’s feet squatting on these unknown power line eyes
i look so tired, so much older, when did i become this devil
this angel, this woman, this man, this child
this soul stuffed into some strange vessel
this ghost hand playing puppeteer

what of the things i was
what of the people i knew
the loves i’ve had
the love i have
what of the walk to the mailbox
what of the drive to work
what of the days spent churning and churning
what did i ever make

who’s voice am i speaking?
i shuffle through photo albums
and i start to feel the photos are not of me
what did i do
really what did i do and where am i
i close the blinds and crawl back into bed
i wrap myself in blankets
as if they were some magic cocoon
that works in reverse

some days we are someone else
and it can be such a brutal voiceless battle
to remember anything about the person
we’ve got so comfortable telling ourselves
that we are

COPYRIGHT BRICE MAIURRO 2015

AND THIS IS WHAT YOU DO WHEN WRITER’S BLOCK

To Maxwell Tilse, never too much.

and this is what you do when writer’s block you type and you type and then you keep blood flowing you suture your wounds you tighten your stitches you arm wrestle the hands of the clock you push through and you create the mounds and mounds of bullshit but maybe you’ll fertilize a small dandelion and that small dandelion will catch in the wind and those little fluffy parachuters will create new dandelions and spread and spread like jelly on bread and you push through and you’ll feel that black shadow of a ghost hovering over you but you can’t pay him no mind you don’t have time and it’s laundry day and what the fuck else are you gonna do it’s laundry day when you leave colorado and you’re in the middle of nowhere wyoming on the way to san francisco you get super excited for the gas stations for the windmills for the human decency to leave some land uncivilized no matter where you are there’s life to be experienced you don’t need drugs you don’t need a passport you just need to know that there are planets and stars that orbit inside you constantly and on these planets and stars are elephants holding flowers with their trunks and on these flowers are lives screaming for you to speak for them we must be louder we must always be louder in hopes of getting some silence but if the silence never comes we will at least have this lullaby to lull us to sleep and in this sleep we will dream of a world of silence where love is unspoken because it is everything and we’ll wake up and there we are there is that world and there’s a lot of hate to see through but i beg of you see through to see your own love and if you feel blocked like you don’t know how to speak just start talking and there may be nothing or maybe just maybe lost in the haze you’ll find a lighthouse light to guide you through the dark night of the soul and into the yellow morning with ya ginsbergian stanzas of gibberish and your uber apparent moonlight motherfucker.

COPYRIGHT BRICE MAIURRO 2015

JUST A QUICK BIT ON LOVE

It’s amazing to be alive on a day where love has been allowed to be free. Have you ever been told you’re not allowed to love someone the way you want to? Have you ever been denied that you could actually love someone? The problem with trying to contain love is it can’t be done. The more you push back on love the closer it will embrace you. This is where I find my hope for humanity. Freedom, beauty, truth and love – and the beautiful thing is today’s ruling to make gay marriage legal in all fifty states will make this country more free, more beautiful, more truthful and of course more full of love. I am beyond elated. Let us not put down our hearts just yet. Let us keep fighting for that which is unarguably good. Let us carry a torch that will light all the dark corners of this world and when there are no dark places left, we can rest. Love is painful, love is work and all that pain and work is worth it on days like today. I love you all. Have a free, beautiful, truthful, lovely weekend.

-Brice

LIQUIDATION

“We are addicted to our thoughts. We cannot change anything if we cannot change our thinking.”
-Santosh Kalwar

i set the fire and i climb down the fire escape
the metal frame rattles as i descend away from my own madness
i cannot tell you how long coming it has been
i jump onto dumpster lids and climb back up onto random rooftops
i stare at the dirty city beneath me
drunk fucks pissing down back alleys howling at the absent moon
clothes strung out on frayed lines
dry but covered in the smoky claws of the sewers
i don’t know how i ended up in this city
i’ve never been here before but the grit is so damn appealing
it’s unwarranted and i’ve been taking action warranted so long that
i am starting to see why some people sleep in gutters
squat in broken bomb shelters and kiss death in the secondhand sheets
i get it i get it i get it’s appealing really it is
you can be a stray dog you can be at the whim of the tobacco wind
throw your watch in the gutter and drive off in some stranger’s sportscar
drive off i’m always talking about driving in my poems
it’s my american song i guess my blues my rock and roll my black metal
my flag hanging out the window as i speed into the blissful absence
to go so fast to miss so much to be so cocooned in adrenaline
as you fall to the floor your eyes roll back to make love to your third eye
you arms go numb your legs go numb and you melt
persistent time gone impersistent
television static floating out of the bluetube and into the ether around you
your shoulder bones writhing your idea of you gone as you watch a breath
the breath the only breath the last breath take you hostage and bam
your gone and then it’s symphonic it’s dylan-gone-electric matador red
blood stampede heart chasing heart chasing heart tom and jerry
and whiskey love nightmares and orange vast sky drowning it’s
crayons on walls of skeleton skulls and chinese lamps floating up
into the mouth of a giant whale swallowed swallowing space ships and
to walk around in the ocular cavity of god to taste her stale morning breath
to hide in the walls for a thousand years and come out a bearded fool
and to see that it’s all gone disappeared like looters came in the night
for an unexpected liquidation sale and stole the very foundation you ran away from
what you got now, old man? where is your dream? where is your nightmare?
when you awaken to find that it’s over and an old drunk bastard says “it’s too late,
and there’s nothing worse than too late,” but we had a good run didn’t we? you
hear someone whisper but you’re just talking to yourself again because who the
fuck else is around?

COPYRIGHT BRICE MAIURRO 2015