“WHY I WRITE POETRY” REBLOGGED ON SOULS ASCENDING
3
Tag Archives: inspiration
CLEVER SALT SHAKERS
that poem’s gone
it was
good intentions
tonight
sitting in a
basement with tickering
lovebirds
it’s starting
to feel
like home
again
there’s a
paranoid hum
this
air conditioner
breeze about
but
that’s
probably just the
apparition of my
something
it’s starting
to feel
like home
in the
apartment
again
for a while there
the walls were
shifting
like
the inside
of a rubik’s
cube
my books
were going
missing
the sun
was a lamp
that could be
clicked on at
midnight
everyone, everywhere
ever
all at once
felt like
strangers
to me
but the adderall’s
dissolving
down
the
drain
and my eyes
and his eyes and her eyes are
smiling
i must have been
punch drunk on rust
and lust
for a month
but that
was two months
ago
a month long hangover
can be
a god damn rattlesnake
a
punch to the
throat
i’m barefoot at night with my
barefeet on the dizzy table
i want to paint a painting of this
painting on the wall
what i really wanna do is
kiss humor
in the back seat of a
cramped
compact
car
i can’t get over April
she’s this
lost month lump
in my throat
bermuda triangulation
i’m so lost at sea
let May crash on me like a
mack truck
i’m wearing my favorite jeans
hearing “Imagine” for the first time
skinny-dipping at
Sea World
i’m
dissolving
down
the
drain
like the Adderall
it’s starting to
feel like
home
in the
apartment
again
all the
junk the
laptops and
books and
bowls and
bags and
deceptively empty
Mountain Dews and junk
seems to be in
it’s place
again
there’s the air again
that computer
breath
(i don’t know where this is going)
but blindfolded
people are
often pushed
to
surprise parties.
the world isn’t
round
it falls off
at the
horizon of
neighbor’s fences
where we become
afraid
to talk to
the mutants in the mirror
it’s
starting
to feel
like home
in the
apartment
again
the whole place
swings
like a basonet
this thing’s gonna
end
like a crescendo
this apartment’s home and you all
are little kitschy items, snow-
globes and candy
tins, handsome whiskey
bottles and
clever salt shakers
sitting
on my
kitchen
shelf.
COPYRIGHT BRICE MAIURRO 2012
MACHIAVELLI
over the coffee table
conversations burned and passed to the left
great muse of philosophy
we questioned everything
as our minds danced mechanically inside
the music box of the moon
why? asked the subterranean walls
and we spoke back to them – no prejudices
we debated debate
we questioned patriarchy and matriarchy
dadaism and mamaism
we took purple smoke-chains from trains
and followed them off the coasts of america
we perfected our universal accents
trying to avoid drowning in the transatlantic ocean
peace was assumed and love was the ice in our
whiskey
a forum free from the wires of electricity
banter like sawed-off shotguns
questions like symphonies lost in the dark
we sang swan songs around a lazy susan
passionately counted the revolutions of the
ceiling fan
we splashed cartoon colors onto white walls
we sawed the legs off dinner tables
and let the chairs walk around the apartment
and for an evening the turntable was our god
we made sweet communion sitting right beside her
our minds bleeding happily through our eyes
my whiskey ghosts fled from the vicinity
we ate veraciously from
the tree of knowledge
as it rained apples
broken banging on the ceiling-floor
we turned off the television
we turned on our amplified souls
we made armistice with the burning part of the world
all this in the withered hands
that open the doors to perception
we passed through the threshold
leaving our material clothes behind
today i shake the polaroid
and watch reality bloom around the green stem of
our personal perspective on perception
three souls
a holy trinity
existing everywhere
in the midnight hum of a square room
COPYRIGHT BRICE MAIURRO 2012
TWILIGHT IN THE WORLD OF BALLOONS
PHOTO COURTESY OF ANTHONY LUEBBERT
and the earth
feels as old as
dirt again
the violins
still mimicking the crickets
and not
the other
way around
the sky is the canvas
we will inject
kandinskily
with the raging crayola
120 pack of color-lustful-majesty
we burn with love
floating amongst the
cosmos
we are as illuminated
as we are
in love
as we are
slightly drunk – only
slightly
out here with the distant
stars
levitating in baskets
crushing
the blurs of
people like ants
with our
blinking
eyes
we distance ourselves
and holding our
breaths
we look at the
world
through the glass
cover above its
brushstrokes
and in the hangover
we descend
flickering flames
rejoining the torch of
humanity
COPYRIGHT BRICE MAIURRO 2012
PHOTO COURTESY OF ANTHONY LUEBBERT: http://www.anthonyluebbert.info/, http://www.monkfishjowls.com/
