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Love,
Brice

02.24

0224

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

(poem for a dying mall. (southwest plaza))

everything i’ve ever known
says i should dismiss you
as a silly capitalistic hub
but i can’t do that
i have known you for far too long
when i was a kid
we would visit you

there’s a strange fondness i feel
for the days i would spend hours suffering
beneath the toxic bright lights of the limited too
while my mom and sister shuffled endlessly
through the mass-produced neon clothes

there’s a strange fondness i feel
for pacing around the mall
with my pink-haired freshman girlfriend
hand-in-hand
eating a cherry-dipped dairy queen cone
and watching the kiosk employee
flying his plastic helicopter
by remote control
in the atrium of the mall

there’s a certain fondness i feel
about sneaking into spencer’s gift with friends
and pretending we weren’t just going
to laugh at the sex toys

you are not that impressive
and you never have been
but i have heard the muzak dying
i have watched
as stores with pulses
became white walls
you cannot lie to me
i can hear the heartbeat behind the plaster

i cannot watch anymore
as economic cancer eats away at your insides
commercial ebola mashes your insides
into one million parasitic cellphone case stores

your gold chandeliers have fallen
my sweet, sweet grandmother of a mall
we used to visit more often
but now we’ve just thrown you into a nursing home
and watched you suffer from a ghost town complex

there’s a strange fondness i feel
for the foreign workers at the sunglass stands
their cheeseball slicked back hair
and their desperation to sell you
overpriced sunglasses
you infected them with that desperation

it is never easy
to watch the past
slowly implode on itself

there’s a strange fondness i feel
to know that my father
a shoe salesman
paced daily so many times
by my mom’s work
before he had the courage
to ask her on a date
within you

the love that made me
the love that raised me
was born inside of you

some things don’t go slowly
and sentiment is a strange bird
that lands on whatever perch it cares to

you’re dying before my eyes
and i’m learning now
that you cannot mourn
what you’ve yet to lose

COPYRIGHT BRICE MAIURRO 2013

READ 02.25, THE NEXT ENTRY IN THE 02.2013 PROJECT

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

02.15

02.15

(puppy love.)

i remember standing beside you at the edge of the world
hand in hand you turned to me and said we should jump
i said i’m not one for suicide and you said it’s not suicide
it’s romantic.

you thought there was nothing more romantic than two lovers
choosing when and where and why and how they want to die

i was never afraid of heights nor commitment
but looking down on the jagged rocks below
the bubbling water crashing and the face of death
i realized in that moment i was afraid of both

and to think this was what i loved most about you
the way you dragged me through chaos
like a hand pulling me through a packed concert
to the front of the stage
where the music was so loud our ears bled
and the lights were so bright we went blind
but we were content to feel the vibrations
and our hands touching the feet of gods
you took your shirt off and threw it at them
standing there in your leopard-print bra i remembered
that you were never one to take anything seriously
your best and worst quality

one of those times you pulled too hard
and my arm came out of its socket
you dragged it around for hours
before you thought to look behind you
to see i was gone and i wasn’t just gone
i was walking in the opposite direction

it’s not addiction
how do you explain it?
you do something
and you do it
and you keep doing it
until it stops being fun
but with addiction you escape
with this
i just walked away
there were no withdrawal symptoms
like a cold haze
like that scene in Fargo
where everything is just white

i erased it all
the scratches on my back healed
i was no martyr
and you were no angel
we were just young and reckless
and in love
stupid love
puppy love
the kind that needs constant attention
and pisses on the floor when you’re not paying attention
and we left the door open
maybe intentionally
and it ran away

surprise, surprise

COPYRIGHT BRICE MAIURRO 2013

READ 02.16, THE NEXT ENTRY IN THE 02.2013 PROJECT

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

02.14

0214

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

(lovey dovey love love love.)

i love you so much
some nights i just stand outside your window
and watch you sleep
in the middle of winter

i love you so much
i have wired your entire house
just so i can hear every last word you speak
i love you so so much

there ain’t no mountain high enough
ain’t no valley low enough
ain’t no restraining order effect enough
from keeping me from getting to you, baby

i love you so much
that i slashed your car’s tires
just so you’d have to call in to work
and i could continue to watch you
from outside of your window
in the middle of winter

i love you so much
that i replaced all the mirrors in my house
with murals of you
that i made myself
my favorite one
is all of them

i love you so much, baby
that i have our kids name’s picked out already
i think we should name them fred and wilma
because you watch the flinstones alot
i’ve noticed
when i watch you
from outside of your window
in the middle of winter

it doesn’t mean a thing
that we’ve never spoken two words to each other
it doesn’t mean a thing
that your dad has kicked the shit out of me
true love conquers all

i love you so much
that i haven’t worked a normal job
in several months
i’ve been way too busy loving you baby
from outside of your window
in the middle of the night

you remind me of my mother

i love you so much
that i knitted these little sweaters
for all of your cats
all six of your cats
i can’t wait until all six of your cats
are all six of our cats
when do you want to get married?

i love you so much
that all i want for valentine’s day
is for you to lift this restraining order
so that i can knock on your door
and give you this giant teddy bear
and these dozen roses
and this box of chocolates
and this collection of seven thousand poems
that i have written for you
while standing outside of your window
at midnight
in the middle of winter

COPYRIGHT BRICE MAIURRO 2013

READ 02.15, THE NEXT ENTRY IN THE 02.2013 PROJECT

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

02.13

0213

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

(beck #1.)

sitting in the attic of the basement of heaven
quarter past half past ten til eleven
looking for a reason in the garbage disposal
divorce papers for the marriage proposal

camera flash jump back ice cream truck
standing in line with the sitting ducks
earning my wages a day at a time now
squares trying to figure out where is the line now

i work tomorrow morning so i’m gonna sleep in
if heaven has a problem with me, let me sin
tell me what to do from nine to five
i’m certain when i’m dead i’ll feel less alive

flipping channels through the ocean t.v. in the water
the birds fly south but the weather gets hotter
met a man from texas who was chronically single
looking for a good place to try and mingle

desperate little bars and repetitious lovers
find more than flashlights underneath the covers
dedicate my will to the future leaders
bury me in armor and my favorite sneakers

COPYRIGHT BRICE MAIURRO 2013

READ 02.14, THE NEXT ENTRY IN THE 02.2013 PROJECT

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

02.12

0212

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

(head. heart. gut.)
head.
heart.
gut.

i believe
with all of my heart
with every ounce of logic
and with that rawest of instinct
that this is all we are made of.

the heart beats
and blood rushes to the head
and the gut twists
the gut writhes inside of us all
and they are all bickering
loudly and honestly
and with no sense of reservation
trying to decide
what to do
and who we are
and where
we are going.

head.
heart.
gut.
this holiest trinity
that resides within us all.
let us pray.

let us pray first of all
that we acknowledge our hearts
that though they do not have a mouth
nor a check-in box on a voting ballot
that they do in fact have something to say
the heart will endlessly be compared to a drum
i will never stop comparing the heart to a drum
because deep
deep in the dark forest of night
at the core of our jungle is the purest of black
but there resides the drum
the drum that beats and fire rises around it
and the people gather within us
to form great circles around the heart
and we honor that which allows us to love
and forgive ourselves
that it also has allowed all of us to hate
but the drum beats either way
systolic elation
diastolic revelation
the cause
and the effect
the river
and its ripple
the vibration
and its echo
and it shakes water from deep lakes within us
and they rise to our eyes when called upon
when we cannot hold in
that which makes us human
and when our heart declares war
it is our head that begins to prepare

our head
a great philosopher
pacing around our skull
unrolling maps
and sticking thumbtacks
in foreign lands
crashing meticulously knights
into fragile queens
and claiming checkmate
when it has seen ahead
of the face across the table
it is the head that allows us to keep the heart
the eyes that move along the words
that turns madness into reality
that turns reality into the past

and some things
do not belong to emotion
some things
do not belong to logic or reason
some things are written
by an invisible hand
that moves us through harsh winter
into uncertainty
the gut
raw as raw
the gut that does not tell you what to do
it does
the hand that removes itself from the hot fire
the moment when nothing can explain why
that it is this
that you have to do

and the head and the gut they bicker
and they always bicker
and get into loud shouting matches
over anything and everything
as the heart tells them both to calm down
as if the heart doesn’t have its fair share
of shouting matches
with them both
but they have to do this

head.
heart.
gut.

thought.
love.
instinct.

three sailors
lost in our sea
in a boat barely big enough
for them all.

to think.
to love.
to act.

what else is there to do?

COPYRIGHT BRICE MAIURRO 2013

READ 02.2013, THE NEXT ENTRY IN THE 02.2013 PROJECT

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

02.11

0211

(the unexplainable.)

there is that which words cannot hold onto
the spaces between these letters
the black part of your pupils
that feeling of vast emptiness when you stand amongst epic nature
rocks like gods and rivers like veins that run through the earth
the feeling you must get staring at our world from outer space
the static charge when lovers lips meet
that danceable feeling of revelation when you meet a new friend on the off chance that some unexplainable force led you to the same room at the same time
that moments when you look in the mirror and see yourself and think what the hell kind of thing is this that i’m a part of
the way you wish you could see yourself with your eyes closed
Love, but not just Love Love
the Love that exists undeniably between everything capable of Love and the Love that sneaks up on you when you’re feeling underoverwhelmed and overunderwhelmed
watching a bird fly beside you down a highway where you both look like you are standing still but in fact you both are charging recklessly into the dawn at unimaginable speeds
that idea that creeps into your skull that you can’t take credit for but that you don’t quite know how you could have gone on each day being you if this great muse didn’t crack open your skull and let in this homeless insect
thunder
lightning
undocumented phenomenon
ghosts of moments that can’t be captured
the stars you see after closing your eyes tightly then opening them wide and back into reality
the way you can fall in love with an abstract painting
the way you can fall in love with a character in some two dimensional story
or a stranger just by watching them dance
the indescribable
the undeniable, existential, completely existent non-existent smoke clouds rising into the sky and out into neverland floating above us below us within us
most of all, within us
the unexplainable
that which truly is
God

COPYRIGHT BRICE MAIURRO 2013

READ 02.12, DAY 12 OF THE 02.2013 PROJECT

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

02.10

0210

(brilliant revelation, you bloody moron…)

i could really use a shoulder to rest my head upon for this long drive home
through the american night and into that most certain day that comes rising up over the mountains like a herd of buffalo

i could most certainly use a drink
and a Love to share it with at some foreign train station bar where the wood floors rattle when our train leaves station without us

i could really go for a glass of cold whiskey
bourbon like marmalade with frosty sweat on the glass and two ice cubes floating around in it like two Lovers freezing in the ocean

i could take a nap and just find myself sleeping for days
wake up with a long long beard but not before dreaming of cities built from the sky down and a woman with eyes like blurry carnival lights

yeah

a woman with a voice like old raspy jazz songs and hands that rock your hands to sleep
a woman who dance with you alone in kitchens in the middle of the timeless night to the sound of your shaking breaths
a woman who smiles like the sun rises from within her
a woman who will wake you up from a deep sleep when you work early the next morning because she wants to make love
she is dying, rampaging heart beat within her ancient rib cage to love you and to have you love her back

yeah
forget the whiskey
i could really use a woman like that

COPYRIGHT BRICE MAIURRO 2013

READ 02.11, DAY 11 OF THE 02.2013 PROJECT

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

02.09

0209

(empty head.)

i got nothing for you today
you might as well leave now
there’s no words of wisdom
no witty stories or clever anecdotes
it’s just dust and air up there
it’s an unimportant february the ninth
never ever admit you’re bored
never let anyone know you’re bored
well, that is just too damn bad
because i am bored

this is a laundry day
one to sleep off
run mundane errands
make phone calls to bill collectors
watch b movies by myself in dirty pajamas
i couldn’t bring myself to be interesting

i’m sorry
i warned you
there’s nothing here
i could dance for you i suppose
like those monkeys in the circus
with their stupid cymbals
uncomfortable in their stupid hats
god, it would suck to be that monkey
if you’re a monkey you don’t even get paid
you just get bruised-up bananas
for dancing for the masses
always expected to smile your monkey smile
and retire at the end of it all
to your tiny monkey trailer
where you lie down in your tiny monkey bed
and turn off your tiny monkey light
and dream about the space monkeys
floating amongst the stars endlessly
far away from the shit show
and the mindless audience

COPYRIGHT BRICE MAIURRO 2013

READ 02.10, DAY 10 OF 02.2013

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