DOCTOR’S ORDERS

lay on your bed and listen to girl from the north country
turn up the blinds and off the lights
let evade you the wars outside your windows
neither their spoils nor their losses are yours to be had

let go of your eyes and let levitate the weight of your body
so very human so very connected to the fascism of gravity
forget the tips of your fingers the taste of the roof
of your mouth forget the humming of the air conditioner

there are over seven billion people in the world
take a second to think about that imagine that there
are seven billion people in the town that you live in
the city the providence the whatever now forget that

now divide that seven billion people by seven billion
watch their beautiful faces faded out watch as they
step backwards into the walls from which they came and
realize there is only you and those seven billion faces
are not gone

they are not dead they are not ghosts they are not any
single thing not some figment of your imagination they
just existed outside of you and now they are all within
you they are swollen in the rests in requiem within you

not in some sort of chaotic time square medley but praying
they are meditating they are still like terracotta
soldiers they are not unmoved by the wind no that is
impossible but they are unafraid of it

and forget about them now

plant a seed in the base of your skull. now water it.
now watch it rise from the surface. now watch it bloom.
outward and outward still it is craving just to be
as much as it knows how to be

now pluck each and every petal from the flower
one at a time each petal between the fingers of your mind
now fall deep deep into the earth and fall through
to the sky to the cosmos and learn to writhe gently
learn to swim through cold water and you’re there

ambivalent sweet indestructible river of silent music
of empty sight of the justice of unasked questions
ten million pounds of feathers thrown into surrender
swayed only by the holes in the letters of the words

and if you forget
lay on your bed and listen to girl from the north country
the freewheelin one

doctor’s orders

COPYRIGHT BRICE MAIURRO 2015

MARCH 12TH

and here i am
burning fossil fuels in the pitch black
something
carving through the rockies
meandering down I70 like a punch-
drunk fool.

tonight, my love!
i kiss you
goodbye.
your trees are green
with envy
but i
have got to
confirm

that there is a world
past your western
slope.

i am slipping
through the cracks
in a black soul.

and this black soul of mine
seems
nervous;
a puppy, with its
tail between its
legs.

breckenridge burns to the ground
in my rear-view.
and my rear-view mirror
frames flashlight city
chasing after me
but this storm
can’t be caught.

this vehicle
is in motion.

i want my eyes to be
panoramic.
i want my limbs to
stretch history.
i need to know what my feet
feel like
in utah.
i have to breathe in the grand canyon’s
sighs
and the artificial air of vegas
casinos.

i am not retracing anyone’s footsteps.

and i am
not
tracing my
shape
into someone else’s
shadow.

i am disappearing.

i want to know
how it feels
to be in a ghost town.
i want to know how it feels
to be
a ghost town.

(may america lend me the disorient-
ation of not having the mountains to show me
which way west is.)

i need to talk to strangers
uncomfortably
and wake up
hungover
in the afterbirth of the womb
of the west.

i am not trying to erase
christianity.
i am trying to
talk to god
first-hand.

i want to see god’s face
without
any makeup on.

i want to hear that
voice:
mountain whistles
slot machine jingles
tumbleweed scratches
bob dylan’s harmonica

i know god exists.
i just want to meet him in
unexpected
places.

please…
sweetheart
try to understand.
i will
boomerang back to you-
don’t take it personally that
i shoot through your veins at
eightyfivemilesperhour
it’s not in your nature to be so
low.
and tonight!
in the darkest of dark

we can be whatever we want to be.

i’m letting my gut
blindfold my mind
throw ’em in the trunk
and drive
us all
into
oblivion.

the road there is lit
solely by mountain stars
close enough to grab
between the boulders
and the neon stripper signs
i am sway-
ing like a crane game.

on the road
i am finally home

on the road
i am charming
and good company

on the road
i am as confused and conflicted and beautiful as
america

it’s march 12th
(happy birthday, jack kerouac)

COPYRIGHT BRICE MAIURRO 2012

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