LIGHTBULB

“Hell is not punishment. It’s training.”
-Shunryu Suzuki

throw me into the frozen ocean
toss me into the lion’s den
give me 1000 shocking needles
piercing through my shallow skin
for through this i will remain

waterboard me for hours on end
as i swim through oceans of freedom
give me small doses of death
crush me beneath the foot of the elephant

paint me in acid
douse me in flame
love me with heartbreak
please me with pain

i am motionless
i am a snowflake
falling in denver
i am the silence
between the notes
and you cannot kill
those who refuse to die

COPYRIGHT BRICE MAIURRO 2014

READ “RANSOM NOTE”

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WATERING THE WALLFLOWER

is it a crime to be a wallflower? am i not allowed to sit and listen to the wallpaper listening to me? must my name be known? other people isn’t always the answer to a bad case of lonely. i can breathe with my mouth shut. my ears open like a great gramophone to the everything we are. we are we are. great big clouds melting and billowing and motioning omniscently across the sky. try and grab us and we disappear. i do not need my name 13 stories high over a grand old theater because every time i look up at the stars, i see my name in lights. i sway like a pendulum on a great grandfather clock. i sway like a dvd menu loop. like the electronic waves in a cheesy youtube meditation video. let me be. i let you be. do not grab me by the neck and throw me into the mosh pit. do not push me. i push myself. i pull myself. i water my kneecaps, i turn my palms up to the sun and wait patiently. an ancient dying man sitting at a closed down bus stop. desert dust and broken bottles of old granddad. let me be. please just let me be.

COPYRIGHT BRICE MAIURRO 2014

READ “A POEM BY HAN SHAN”

SOMETIMES I FEEL LIKE THERE’S A COWBOY ARGUING WITH A BUDDHIST MONK IN MY HEAD

and the cowboy always draws his pistol but the buddhist monk just walks through the walls of the saloon
and the buddhist monk tells the cowboy to relax try meditating and the cowboy says meditation is just an excuse to be lazy
and the cowboy swigs jack from the bottle and the monk sips tea from a cup
and the monk says inner peace and the cowboy says western expansion
and the cowboy says i’ve got a lady back home do you got a lady back home and the monk says that’s the only kind of love i’ve never known
and the monk sets his house on fire and the cowboy builds a shed
and the cowboy sings old diddies about america by the campfire while the monk hums to the sound of everywhere
the cowboy eats pork and beans, the monk eats nothing at all
and at high noon it’s midnight
and the cowboy spits his tobacco and the monk focuses on the truth
and sometimes they talk about their dreams and realize they both have brown eyes
but sometimes i just wish they would shut the hell up

COPYRIGHT BRICE MAIURRO 2012

READ “SUBTERRANEA”

SOCRATES BEAT

i like having my arms tug-o-warred between nazi germany and hippie utopia
i like playing pin the tail on the next president of the united states of america
every day colorado is a different shade, a different mood a different temperature so i must mimic her dance steps in the dark
i like considering the entire menu because the moment i order the same i always do – i feel vindicated and why is the waitress staring at me?
from henceforth when people ask me my political views i will answer “yes”
from henceforth when people ask me my religious views i will tell them i subscribe to the church of Allah, Buddha, Jesus, Ganesh, Thor, Zeus and the flying spaghetti monster sitting on a cloud having a religious debate
i want to be a child again – when my favorite ninja turtle was ‘all of them’ – and that was okay
i will stop ending my sentences with periods and begin to end them with question marks?
because i know, and everyone can agree on the fact that, i don’t know everything and you don’t know everything and the guys on t.v. with podiums for legs don’t know everything but collectively we can get a lot closer
screw their very important person tea party – we are all the united nations
we are truthseekers and truthspeakers and truth is the mental atomic bomb i hold most dearly
the freedom of truth, the beauty of truth, the love of truth, and god, do i love her
truth is my lady, she’s never wrong but she’s a good listener, but she loves to argue, but we never go to bed angry
and neither should the rest of us, unless we need to
we need to document the world we want
we need to break down our neighbor’s door with a giant cup of sugar
let us be open doors and patient ears – not wind-up chattering teeth talking to ear plugs

i like having my arms tug-o-warred between nazi germany and hippie utopia
and i like earth better than heaven, because there’s more books to be read and written on the subject
we are still rebuilding the tower of babel and they will never let us finish

COPYRIGHT BRICE MAIURRO 2012