DRUNK AT LEELA’S

two girls in leopard print chairs
arguing arguments over pbrs
there’s three guys smoking out front
these couches are older than any of us
the loud anger bang music is soft
beneath the sound of
actual fucking conversation
a plate of bones
tilted ketchup bottle
i can feel denver’s heart pounding
these tables bring together lost souls
for reality meetings
fifteen naked lunches
at 10:30 pm on a tuesday night
michael sells buttons and books
glass pane windows
expose the television of flashlight city
the lights glare as the whiskey roars
and i am happy
at peace
desirous of nothing all at once
listening to nirvana
enter a man in a cloak
enter the song of flashlight city
the invisible doorman
shoos away the nazis
hitler crying in the gutters
his make up running
he just wants a friend
we all just want a friend
leela is mine
she yaps music i’ve never heard before in my ear
some band that’s first album was better
she hugs me warm when the lights of flashlight city are dim
she takes my coat for me
kisses me, a humble peck on my chapped lips
and we dance
we dance like homecoming soldiers make love
like painters paint
like graffiti artists run
and i am tweedle dee tweedle dum couldn’t be happier
running the blazing sun flowers into the arms of a
woman who listens to every word we say

i finish my drink

there is laughter echoing into heaven in this house
i feel justified in this horny asylum of color
where you can come and go as you please
i feel justified
as i lay my innocent head upon leela’s naked breasts
and i can hear her heart beat

a heart that says
“i’m alone in here
but i want to be free
i want to hug strangers
i want to inject life simultaneously into all of my
vains breaching the gates that lead to infinity
in the hyperbolic playground of existence”

that is what leela’s heart says
we match tempos
and set aflame together

i too am a heart
in the hand of denver
rocked to stasis by the world’s axis

leela,
baby,
i want to have your children
fill the photo frames of forever with me
please
at least
a cup of coffee?

COPYRIGHT BRICE MAIURRO 2012

READ “CHICKEN SANDWICH FROM BURGER KING”

CHICKEN SANDWICH FROM BURGER KING

about two months ago
i dreamt that i was eating a chicken sandwich
from burger king
and since that night
i have had increased my intake of chicken
sandwiches from burger king
exponentially

of course
there’s a burger king
on my way home from work
that glowing siren
singing me to shipwreck
right at the tail end of my
ten hour long work
excursions

four days a week
two times a day
i have to drive by that
godless whore of a
burger king
with her majestic
window mural
of a chicken sandwich
shining in the golden light
of halogen heaven

you have to understand
part of me acknowledges that
burger king is a capitalistic
corporate burger-making entity
that rolls obesity down
its assembly lines for insanely
disturbingly low prices
i’ve heard rumors that the
charbroiled taste on their burgers
is less flames dancing on an
all beef patty but more so
a mad scientist emulating the taste
of said smoke
a chemically perfect alternate burger
delivered by a fascist fast food joint
slowly devouring american life
into chunky zombie clones
part of me acknowledges that

but part of me knows that
the chicken sandwich at burger king
is a work of art
worthy of sacrifice to the gods

whoever decided that the masses deserved
to eat their chicken sandwich
on an eight inch long bun
with an insanely correct amount of
mayonnaise
deserves the shiniest fucking gold medal
delivered to their door by aphrodite herself

it is glorious

and now it has snuck its way
into my dreams and i can’t stop thinking
about it and it floats above my head
like a mysterious levitating orb
taunting me as i try to lay me down to
sleep

but you don’t care
you’ve got your own shit
you don’t understand my pain
you don’t understand what i go through
you’ve got your super important problems
and part of me understands and respects that
but don’t you fucking ever claim to know
the pain that i feel
eternally inside of me

this sandwich
this entity
has entered my life
jumped into my soul and it will not let me be
until it eventually kills me
in bloody ecstatic joy
this ebola which is
the chicken sandwich from burger king
with the god damn sesame seeds and all
it speaks to me when the air is silent
it spoons me to sleep each night
this love will kill me

and i know what you’re thinking
this guy is fucking crazy
and what the hell happened to his poetry
but if you were paying attention now you know
my poetry was stolen from me
by this she-devil that is
the chicken sandwich from burger king

COPYRIGHT BRICE MAIURRO 2014

I TRIED TO SAVE YOU FROM THE RIP TIDE

Wild Coast at Belle-Ile by Claude Monet

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

i tried to save you from the rip tide
but you wouldn’t let me
you assured me that you knew how to walk on water
that you knew what you were doing
that she was worth it

i tried to save you from the rip tide
but you were so damn stubborn
you ran naked into the ocean
arms flailing like some kind of idiot
i watched you disappear into the white foam
i watched you pick up the phone and call her

i tried to save you from the rip tide
but i don’t think you believed there was one
you said to me that even if you got lost at sea
you would emerge on a island of oasis
and you and her would finally be happy

i tried to save you from the rip tide
i told you all the fables i could
cautionary tales and ghost stories
i told you of sirens and shipwrecks
but you were so fucking stupid
exactly the way that i was too
exactly the way you wanted to be

i tried to save you from the rip tide
i told you you would be floating there
when out of nowhere something would grab your leg
and you’d looked out towards the shore
but there would be no shore to see
i tried to warn you but you had to find out for yourself
and now here we are
flotsam and jetsam
two idiots lost forever in this rip tide
among the shrapnel of the titanic
and its desperate false love stories

COPYRIGHT BRICE MAIURRO 2014

SITTING IN YOUR DARK LIVING ROOM, WHILE YOU BLOWDRY YOUR HAIR

and i don’t know how long these things take
but i am quickly learning
across the room
you are wearing a beautiful, flowy dress
like always
your hand is on your hip
as your other hand grips the dryer
as hot wind blows
through your manic hair
the chairs in the living room
aren’t saying anything
the television
is completely off
you ask me
if i want a book to read or something
but i couldn’t be happier
than sitting in your dark living room
while you blowdry your hair

COPYRIGHT BRICE MAIURRO 2012

READ “SOME FLOWERS”

FOLLOW ME ON FACEBOOK

NO POST TODAY…

peace sign #1

…but please, check out some of my recent stuff.

A BEAR IN TOKYO is a short story I wrote about a strange night I had recently.

AMERICAN HONEY I wrote back in 2012. It’s one of my favorite poems.

Have a great seventh of July, and if you can’t, have a fifth of whiskey. ;)

Love,
Brice