MACHIAVELLI

over the coffee table
conversations burned and passed to the left
great muse of philosophy
we questioned everything
as our minds danced mechanically inside
the music box of the moon

why? asked the subterranean walls
and we spoke back to them – no prejudices
we debated debate
we questioned patriarchy and matriarchy
dadaism and mamaism
we took purple smoke-chains from trains
and followed them off the coasts of america
we perfected our universal accents
trying to avoid drowning in the transatlantic ocean
peace was assumed and love was the ice in our
whiskey

a forum free from the wires of electricity
banter like sawed-off shotguns
questions like symphonies lost in the dark
we sang swan songs around a lazy susan
passionately counted the revolutions of the
ceiling fan

we splashed cartoon colors onto white walls
we sawed the legs off dinner tables
and let the chairs walk around the apartment
and for an evening the turntable was our god
we made sweet communion sitting right beside her
our minds bleeding happily through our eyes
my whiskey ghosts fled from the vicinity
we ate veraciously from
the tree of knowledge
as it rained apples
broken banging on the ceiling-floor

we turned off the television
we turned on our amplified souls
we made armistice with the burning part of the world
all this in the withered hands
that open the doors to perception
we passed through the threshold
leaving our material clothes behind

today i shake the polaroid
and watch reality bloom around the green stem of
our personal perspective on perception
three souls
a holy trinity
existing everywhere
in the midnight hum of a square room

COPYRIGHT BRICE MAIURRO 2012

Read “NUCLEAR CREATION”

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11 thoughts on “MACHIAVELLI

  1. Powerful write great use of language think I like the last stanza best shaking photo of the past

  2. I loved this poetry at first sight.
    I seemed to understand it better with each of the three reads; but I wonder what thoughts exactly are in that mind of yours.
    Eg purple smoke-chains? Was their “cigar” smoke coloured purple or you just meant the quality of royalty?
    Subterranean walls?
    Brice! Brice!! Brice!!!

    • We took purple smoke chains from trains and followed them off the coasts of America. I think the purple just felt child like to me. I mean to say that we questioned the ideas of western philosophy and took them as far to the edge as we could.

      Subterranean because I live in a basement apartment.

  3. Pingback: THE OBNOXIOUS SOUND OF MUSIC UPSTAIRS | FLASHLIGHT CITY BLUES

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