OH I GOT A DEMON

 

oh i got a demon
and that is a fact
and this demon won’t stop
clawing my back

oh i got a demon
and this demon just does
whatever its heart desires

from breaking windows
to starting fires

from tearing down boundaries
to putting up walls

i got a demon
yeah i got a demon

oh i got a demon
and i named him frank
i figured he’d stick around
oh i got a demon
and if i’m not careful
he’ll tear me into the ground

i got a demon
and no reason for livin
this demon is takin
but boy, he ain’t givin

i’m stepping outside on the good days
i’m staying inside on the bad
i’m sending devotion to all my past lovers
i’m devotionally married to sad

i’m carryin my groceries
i’m carryin my crosses
i’m carryin my sore wins
and more my sore losses

because
i got a demon
and no reason for livin
this demon is takin
but boy, he ain’t givin

this demon i leave him home some days
i leave him some days, it’s true
but i’ve got him with me wherever i go
cause i don’t want to give him
to you

COPYRIGHT BRICE MAIURRO 2014

READ “KICKIN IT”

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02.23

0223

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

(stella blues.)

stella
oh, my baby, stella
you are the one that i cradle in my arms
when we can’t pay the rent
when the landlord is banging at the door
in the starlit night we just sit
on my alabama porch
and i count the stars like pennies
and you sing me a twelve bar song

stella
oh, my baby, stella
your curves were made with intention
i met you at a pawn shop
and as soon as i saw you
pressed up against the wall
i knew i would give
a twenty-dollar gold piece
right off my watch cahin
just to have you

and you came on home with me
in the dark, dark mississippi night
and we stayed up
through the blackest of
black georgia twilight
and we talked about your skin
we laughed about the cost of everything
and i put my hand on your neck
and you took my other hand
and you pointed it up towards the north star

you spoke in rhythm
that was not lost on me
everything i said
you said right back to me
but with poetry
like an old blues song
grown from the deep south of your love

your fingertips like work songs
your field drab lips like field hollers
your wide, wide hips like spirituals

stella
oh, my baby, stella
i take you with me everywhere i go
together we’re safe from the black rum booze
together we’re safe from these blue devil blues
when i play you like a guitar
you play me right back
and i love you for it
oh, my baby, stella
i love you for it

COPYRIGHT BRICE MAIURRO 2013

STELLA

02.2013 is a twenty-eight day project chronicling my february of 2013 through poetry. to read the entries from the beginning CLICK HERE

MAMA, I AIN’T SAD (I’M JUST SINGING THE BLUES)

i can see you now
in a nighttime gown
by a windowsill
with that mother’s frown

but mama
i tell you all the time
and it’s always true
i ain’t sad
i’m just singing the blues

i know you worry
but mama, i’m grown
as long as there’s blues
i’m never alone

this is just my way
of kissing goodbye the day
it’s just my right
to stay up every night

cause mama
i tell you all the time
and it’s always true
i ain’t sad
i’m just singing the blues

that telephone ain’t gon’ ring
after darkness falls
but mama, won’t you hear me
that i thank you for it all

this is just my way
of kissing goodbye the day
it’s just my right
to stay up every night

but mama
i tell you all the time
and it’s always true
i ain’t sad
i’m just singing the blues

COPYRIGHT BRICE MAIURRO 2012

READ “RUINED A PERFECTLY GOOD MOMENT”

MISSION STREET BLUES

there’s a swarm of bees meandering the streets of san francisco. there’s women in homicidal heels and men in nothing too special. everyone’s got their hoods up and their eyes high and it’s making me sad that no one seems to have the time to look around. this city is on fire, desperate for attention. it’s beautiful. these buildings have scars all over them and they’re the good kind of scars, but everyone is just pushing the stroller. everyone is just carrying the bag. everyone looks too damn preoccupied with the inside of their heads to realize that there is a living thing surrounding them. clockwork. there’s hipster girls and gay boys in pairs. there’s peacoats and taxis and bars filled to the brim with chewing faces, beautiful asian women, beards and yeah, a few too many pairs of judgmental eyes. lights everywhere.

and i miss denver. this city makes denver look like a bad comedian but god, i miss denver. i miss my friends. i miss my family. i miss denver’s crooked smile and her warm heart and the barcade and sixteen street and the mountains.

i’ve got the golden gate bridge and the bay and the city and the hills and the smell of sea salt in the air and all i want is to lay down in my mediocre bed with denver. i want to sit in my basement apartment and talk until three in the morning with my friends and i want to listen to the beatles on my record player.

“i bet it’s snowing in denver,” says francis, facetiously and i say,
“i hope so. i love the snow. i love my city that doesn’t have a barney’s and doesn’t have an apple store the size of steve job’s ego and i love that we were almost the ones who travelled to the end of the world, but stopped because we remembered that sometimes being land-locked just means you’ve got four walls around you. sometimes living in a square state means you know your boundaries. you know when to call it a night and just lay down in front of a fire with the door cracked open.

don’t get me wrong, francis, you’re great. really, you are. you’re by far the curviest girl i’ve ever met. you’ve got a way better personality than los angeles and you have beautiful buildings flowing through your veins. and yeah, you’re really god damn progressive. you’ve got your shit together. but you’re the dream, and i want the reality. i want to settle down. you’re kind of an indie marilyn and i’m looking for a jackie-o. that’s all.