CAPTURE

capture me in your film reel
put me back inside your toxic head
give me the angst i crave
give me the perfume of wastelands
give me the perfume of wastelands

it’s insensitive of you not to call
i swear to god i’m hanging over the edge
of this building and i’m gonna jump
i swear to god i’m gonna jump
without your visceral voice
i will hit the concrete headfirst

i’m not trying to be the bull in your china shop
i’m not looking for romantic disney love song
give me your health insurance
and all the disease that comes along with it

let’s pursue the american nightmare
let’s try to put the past behind us
let’s bury our children in the yard together
trauma bond with me for life
won’t you trauma bond with me for life?

i know there’s not a lot of hope here
i know there’s some spaces inbetween
they don’t fill in
they’ll never fill in
but let’s continue through shitstorms
umbrellas open now
umbrellas open now

we are children who played with lead paint toys
we are the island of misfits
let’s just close our eyes and hum the garbage disposal
let’s let go of that shiny diamond ring of hope

COPYRIGHT BRICE MAIURRO 2013

READ “FAST LANE”

About these ads

WINTERSONG

cold white hands claw their way through the earth reaching up hopelessly
silver roads turn to white ash into the distance where the earth swallows itself whole
the days are solemn and honest and empty and we are underground with the rabbits
hibernating with the thought of a dead deer on the side of a frosty mountain road
no one sees anything, this is one of the many faces of peace and this is the church of death
this is the small sound of an ice age and the path we follow each year when our luck runs out
the canyons are tossed in white and the air is tiny daggers that pierce the pale skin to the bone
and the bone is the same bone that is exposed meatless on the face of the earth where there is no sun
and the ice is the mirror buried beneath the powdered ground where we cannot see ourselves
and does anything matter when everyone is frozen alive and love is a distant season
as the fortunate are lost within the summer they’ve harvested and hoard within their thighs
while the rest of us are anorexia and devastated ghost town wind blowing chiming crackle
and i am left with nothing, abandoned by the leaves that once clinged to me

COPYRIGHT BRICE MAIURRO 2012

READ “THE KING OF HIS LAWN”

SEVIER COUNTY

i followed endless yellow lines endlessly
through a ghost’s shadow in utah and
there were no crickets and there was no god
pushing endlessly through the endless stomach of
the pupil of eternity; i was alone the way you think of
a lighthouse as being alone
and in the onyx smoke of sevier county the headlights
of my vehicle only reminded me that this place
this gun buried in a bible
was never to be found
i was a bullet in a dusty barrel
and the moon was swallowed by the sky
one hundred some odd miles
no services
the analog clock on my dashboard
was irrelevant numbers
and the oldies radio station was the muffled voices
of dead people
drowsy drivers cause crashes
warned that sign that grew out of the earth
and my eyes acknowledged
two voids staring hollow into the void staring back
i was draining like a dirty bathtub
and from the desert night road to ghost rocks
a pair of headlights blinked at me from the margins of existence
i won’t stop i said out loud to my self
and in my rear-view mirror i saw those phantom eyes
fade into non-existence
in dark roads and dark rooms alike they will always haunt me
blinking forever, lost in never.

COPYRIGHT BRICE MAIURRO 2012

READ “ROGAINE”