SALT

i won’t
tell you not to
cry
but take
your salt water
and make
it an ocean
and chop down the fences
around your
summer home heart
and make a
boat
and sail to me
sail
to wherever if
not me
than sail into the sun
sail into
dreams that you’ve had
or dream
of the dreams you’ve yet to
dream
because there are planets in the vastness
of your rattling rib cage
and there
are planets
in the vastness of each breath
you swallow
and each you return to fill the space
you left behind
and each penny on the ground
is a child
waiting to be born
we think our thoughts and they kind of
swish around like mouthwash
for a minute
there
and
then when we’re done we spit them
out
into the great rusty pipes of the world
and these baby crocodile ideas
get into the
sewers and in
the sewers they grow into great alligator magnum opus
transcontinental hands held high
in celebration
of not being hate
of not being disappointment
of being the dot beneath the question
mark and not the windy road
that leads the way
and we are not toy soldiers
nor masks nor silent
we are amphitheater
we are starlight and music and unintentional
intention
uninvented invention
the dew that drips from our tongue
trapped in teeth
forced to send carrier pigeons
except when we lower the draw bridge
and let in the inevitable sensation
of another
in one moment of pure recklessness
we invite in waves of sensation
our lighthouse beams
guiding them to the shores of the future
which rest in our hungry bellies
where the salty ocean of our tears
always resides

COPYRIGHT BRICE MAIURRO 2015

KEN’S LAKE

somedays i’m amazed with how much peace i’ve found in my life
there is a rhythm to cooking eggs in the morning
to turning the shower head against the wall to avoid the shock of the water
to listening to morning music while i eat the eggs alone in my living room

there is a brightness to morning that can’t be mimicked by anything
i fall in love each night with the headlights that slide along my bedroom ceiling
i am grateful for the whistle of a teapot
i am grateful for the slow and simple in this long and languid life
i am grateful for your liquid sunshine faces, for your moonlight sonata

it’s okay to be a heavy rock at the bottom of a river
the white rapids will paint stories on your freckled back

if you’re feeling lonely
there’s a missed opportunity in there
to let a stranger into your home
sometimes that’s what it takes
when family is too familiar
and friends echo on the other side
of the invisible wall you add stones to
leave your door wide open
and see who the wind blows in

this poem is hard to write
because right now i just am
there is no war in my chest
there is an armistice in my arms
and i can still feel my hands push through
the reflections of clouds
on the thick water
of ken’s lake

COPYRIGHT BRICE MAIURRO 2015

INTERNAL CIRCUS

there’s a bunch of caffeined-up kids playing laser tag in my skull
there’s a homeless man who has taken shelter in my cardboard box gut
there’s a flash flood pouring through my river-veins like the end of days
my fingers have been commandeered by pirates
and they sail on through oceans of indecision

there’s a mime on the soap box of my throat
presenting a great silent sermon but the live studio audience
is fast asleep in my liver

there is a bear pacing the den of the balls of my feet
hungry and impatient he wanders back and forth
a mechanic works on my rusty knees while a prospector
digs for gold in the hills of my knuckles
there’s a riot in the rain in the depths of my stomach
unsettled citizens hold signs protesting a broken society
the inconsistent weather has driven them stir crazy
there is an empty crucifix in my shoulders
wondering patiently if anyone will ever climb aboard
there is no room anywhere in this full house
monkeys swing from chandeliers, wild dogs run rampant
people and every manner of beast is born and dies inside of me
and i bury them all in the graveyard of my lungs
there is something in every section of my being
except for my heart, where i have taken the liberty
of clearing out a room, changing the bedsheets
putting a mint on a pillow so when you come to town
you will always have somewhere to stay

there may be a circus of angels and monsters
flying around inside of me, clawing at my rib cage
but in this tiny room of my heart
i will make certain there is always a reservation
for you

COPYRIGHT BRICE MAIURRO 2015

TYRION LANNISTER

it is a good feeling to be free
to have no load to carry
no cross to carry
to have no day no moment
but the one that we have just arrived in

it is good to be loved by a woman
to know the value of pursuit of her
pursuit of life
pursuit of whatever it is you wish to pursue
it is good i find at the end of the hangover day
to celebrate the mistakes with a toast to the gods

and who are these gods?
these mysterious creatures to whom we attribute this all
this caper this unanswerable riddle
all i know is i wish to be among them

i will drunk drunk drunk
til i can drunk drunk drunk no more
for i am tyrion lanister
and you are beautiful eyes
and an inviting sway
to a dance that i hope will last longer
than this chemical buzz
this i.v. bag of bliss
which i don’t understand
because buried beneath is more bliss

it is a peculiar thing
to drink alone
to wonder where the line is
where you no longer are a sober soul
it is a peculiar life
with clowns and bears on tricycles
with ugly stepsisters
and wicked deeds
but there is hope i find
in the exit wounds we leave in time
that is where i find my hope
which i always search for
nothing is more sacred than my constant search
for hope
and your love
and the way these two things
intertwine
the way they braid together into rope
slipknot tied tight and wrapped around my vulnerable throat
waiting for you
to drop
the floor beneath my feet

COPYRIGHT BRICE MAIURRO 2015

67.2 YEARS

some just dig a grave for 67.2 years
some plant flowers
some kiss babies
some people run from the sun and mourn with the moon
some try to rebuild the tower of babel
some try to burn it down
some don’t sleep well
some sleep too much
some come crashing in through the ceiling machine guns
bursting from their prophetic mouths and when
it’s all said and done they walk home empty of bullets

some plant their roots
firmly in the soil
and reach their arms up to the sky
they take in water
they taste the foundation of the earth
they understand there is power
in both rainy chaos and solar structure
they take it as it comes
and they too will die
in approximately 67.2 years
but they know what it is and what it isn’t
they know that they don’t know
but the best gifts
are the ones that get used all the time
or at least are not forgotten
not even over 67.2 years
not even the course of a lifetime
so very long so very lovely
so very full of potential to live a lot longer

COPYRIGHT BRICE MAIURRO 2015

I SLEPT ON YOUR FLOOR IN THE AUTUMN OF YOUR HOME

i slept on your floor in the autumn of your home
in dim light we mourned the death of your year
shadows of trees against the walls like skeletal hands
you were wearing a party dress but you looked ready for a funeral
you hosted a seance for the ghost of your happiness
you invited the whole town to come dance but our legs were tired from trying to keep up with you
we slept in spare beds on the floor in cupboards and we dreamed of change as you nightmared in the same space
the brick walls so redundant the smoke climbed the lines the jester performed his manic depressive juggling act the smoke billowed the balloons on the floor looked sad making love to the dust your legs were white as winter
i was not here for any of this i was just the eyes of the painting that you painted of yourself
i was the broken streamers swaying from the ceiling like a hanged man
i was the last hope never wanted to be but there i was the angel of death come to swing the sword

i never wanted to be
and you want to be so badly always

COPYRIGHT BRICE MAIURRO 2015

BROMANCE – COMEDY SKETCH

So,

Not my usual poetry, but my friends and I recently made a short comedy film called “Bromance,” parodying cologne and perfume commercials. Written and directed by Kate Kelly. Starring myself, Logan Custer, Kevin Lynam on vocals. Shawn Sloan camera work and special recognition to Grace Job. Check it out:

If you enjoyed this, take a second and follow our youtube page. We will be releasing more comedy videos in the future!

KLONOPIN NIGHTMARE

i am the shadow of trees on your wall at night
the pain in your gut that doesn’t go away
i am days spent in bed writhing and uncertain
the steely taste of iron in your mouth

it’s you and me forever
it’s you and i til the end of time

i am the thousand black horses stampeding through your skull
i am the sound of your neighbor’s fucking and fighting forever through the wall
i will kiss you with envy, i will drown you in this limbo

there’s no earthly way of knowing
which direction we are going

there’s no sunlight, no trail to walk along
the room you enter is both endless and small
stories of madmen and women burnt at the stake
carved into the walls closing in around you

this is what happens when you know how the wind moves
but could never understand what it’s trying to say to you

these are the days lost to the blue ghost of indecision
haunting you into the next azul morning

COPYRIGHT BRICE MAIURRO 2015

PHANTOM LIMB

o! does this hamster wheel
ever stop hamster wheeling?
i bite constantly at my endless
nails, i shave my neck
constantly. am i not just meant to be
a werewolf? i howl at the moon enough.
my blood grows red in the dark.

sometimes i feel like i’m just
inbetween poems always all the time
just transitioning from the sunday ringroad
to the sunday jungle room madness
captured in the starry eyes of celestial
children.

which hat will i cover my bald head with
today? will i be the ringmaster? the poet?
the devil? the tower? will i be the cynic?
will i be the beaming light of the world?
will i allow it to die out? what chaos do i drown
my cereal in? which character on the box am i?

o! to be beside you. hand-in-hand
this is my favorite place to visit
where the overcast fades and your hands
cross the borders of my body like refugees
like western expansion like the history of
humanity. this is where i be when i choose
where to be i will be. i speak so new so young
so confused and brilliant in the dark star
of your vast eyes. i cannon through the night
like a human cannonball on fire and lost and in
love with the world that you roll around. i
walk on top and keep balance with the gravity
of what we might be.

o! to be dear with a friend. to be reminded
no one person is your everstar and the sky would
be dark if there was only one light in its hugeness.
when the eloquent get high and allow
themselves the priviledge of confusion
the song they sing is laughter.
this i know i think i know but i don’t really
ever stand still.

i fidget. i lose focus. i just cannot stand
still.

they say i have a.d.d. but really
i think i was just born to always be in motion
my name means never stopping never ending
i’d explain in more detail but i’ve got a train
to catch to see the joshua tree. because
i too am a strange tree in the middle of a desert.
a city on a plane. a mustache grown like wild blue horses
looking to capture the dew of unspoken thoughts.
we think we can catch tomorrow but really we just have
to be patient until it decides to become today.

o! how your love reminded me of the love i have for
everything. a poet in love is a dangerous
thing. we could build a space needle or we could
find ourselves between the devil and the deep
blue sea.

i want to kiss you underwater in seattle in the rain.
i want to kiss you in five points.
i want to kiss you in the wings of the stage.
i want to kiss you on the giant runways of the airport
as planes take off into the unforgiving sky
the indifferent merciless sky that loves as fiercely
as it hates. (for love and hate are the double doorway
that passion walks through, i think so)

o! this year! o! to be in this moment.
where we live so voraciously but
with the major bummer downside of rising rent.
it is not cheap to occupy an idea.
you cannot just leave your coat on the seat.
when approached by a large animal
the only option is to make yourself large as well.

display your multitudes. confess your breath.
chase clouds. punch the alarm clock. kiss the cement.
entertain the clowns with your seriousness.
throw candy into their wide open yawning mouths.
tie red strings around their fingers to remind them
to live. always open your gifts before christmas.
count your chickens before they hatch. learn to understand
that disappointment is just an opportunity to love what didn’t
happen.

o! to love what didn’t happen
to mourn the loss of something so huge
that you cannot wrap your arms around it
you cannot bury it in the ground
this phantom limb will squeeze your heart forever
it will squeeze your heart like a stress ball.
so invite yourself to attend the stress ball.
dance with it. twirl it around. feel it with you.
we were gifted with the strange ability to convince
ourselves that something is true until eventually
we don’t have to fake it anymore.
big fish become fairy tales and fairy tales become
legends and legends become gospel and gospel becomes
truth and then we destroy that.
we are so good at demolition when we are seduced by
the idea of creation.

o! dear sweet life
i am trying so hard to coexist with you
to share my bed with you
you ask me if i sleep well when you stay over
and i lie and i say yes
but the truth is i will adjust
because i need you to be here beside me
i find comfort in discomfort
it’s in the word itself
i work through the prefix of yesterday
in hopes of getting to the core of today
i want into this moment
please let me into this moment
dear god, can i please just be in this moment?

that’s the tricky part, isn’t it?
to be in the moment and not think about being in the moment
i watch movies and i think about the script
while the masses around me are engulfed in the tragedy and the comedy
i wish i could laugh, i wish i could cry
but i just keep analyzing

the unexamined life is not worth living
but the fully examined life is never lived

o! phantom limb
pull me up into the sky
let us be together
in the cradle of infacy
where we know everything
because we know nothing
and nothing about that

COPYRIGHT BRICE MAIURRO 2015