I DON’T KNOW

be the savior of my religion
be the hand beneath my pillow
be the paperweight on my papers in the wind
be the kiss that beats my alarm clock

i’ll be the dust on your stage
i’ll be the canary to your coal mine
i’ll be the detour to your house
i’ll be the fire to your attic

we’ll be until we can’t
we’ll move like wind ahead of hurricanes
we’ll dance like we’re drunk
in my parent’s basement

then you’ll be the ghost under my stairs
then you’ll be beneath my flowers and my letters
then you’ll be the flowers that rise to your grave
then you’ll be cumulonimbic swan songs

then i’ll be with you amongst the madness
then i’ll be swimming beside you like two halves
of a pair of scissors piercing through paper chaos
then i’ll remember the way we felt

i’ll remember the way we felt

then i don’t know
i don’t know
i don’t know
i don’t know

we’ll make it up as we go along.

COPYRIGHT BRICE MAIURRO 2013

READ “THE WALL AT THE END OF THE UNIVERSE”

THE WALL AT THE END OF THE UNIVERSE

there is a wall at the universe
where shit heads graffiti their names on the side
street kids hide little bags of drugs behind the bricks
and you and i just sat there
our backs pressed against it

“what’s beyond that wall?”
you asked me
and i told you
“that’s the whole thing.
it’s the wall at the end of the universe.
there is nothing beyond it.”

“nothing is something.”
you said.
i wanted to kiss you.
you were wearing that lipgloss
that tasted like cherries
or strawberries
or some delicious fruit
and when my lips are done
sliding off the synthetic taste
all i’m left with is you.

you and me.
sitting against the wall
at the end of the universe.
the one that doctor gonzo
drove his great shark over.
the one that syd barrett
crashed into
like the comedown
from the astral plane.
this is where we are.

“have you ever wanted
to look over the wall?”
you asked.
“hell no,” i said.
“that’s just

that’s just too much for me.”
“how can you not want to look?”
“to be honest,”
i said,
“i’m slightly disinterested.”

“i’m going to look.”
you said,
and i thought that too
was an honorable choice
so i lifted you up onto my shoulders
and you looked out
into the great beyond
where i imagine
there are no red planets
or white giants
or starbucks across the street from
starbucks
and i asked you what you could see
and you said

“i don’t know how to describe it.”
and i said
“well try…”
and you said
“i can’t even really see anything
i just feel
deep inside of me
this haunting faith
that there is something beyond
this wall.”

“who made this wall?”
i asked
and you said
you didn’t know
and you came back down
from off my shoulders
and you looked into my eyes
and you said
“huh…”
and i said
“what…”
and you said
“nothing.”

there was a pause.
the crickets held their bows
and waited for our cue
to continue.

“i’m gonna throw a brick
over the wall!”
i said.
and you said
“you are such a guy.”
and i said

“i have to know.
i have to know if i can
break down the walls of perception.
what if someone
just put this wall up
to make themselves feel better?
maybe they were afraid of
infinity?”

“afraid of infinity?
do you know how you sound?”

“i’m serious!”
i said.
“why else do we build walls?
because we’re afraid of
not understanding
what is on the other side.”

“or we’re trying to keep
something
out.”
you said.
applying more lip gloss.
“or
maybe,”
you said,
“they were a romantic…”

“what is more romantic
than the idea
that everything continues
forever,”

“i’ll tell you what,”
you said,
“the idea
that you and i
on some cold colorado night
could pack a picnic
and go sit
at the wall at the end of the universe
and accept that we did it.
that together, we made it.
we all want to be pioneers.
we all want to feel that what we found
is the ultimate.
we are nationalistic
to the nation of ourselves
and our loved ones.
that is why we are here.
that is why you and i ended up here
at the wall at the end of the world
so we could pretend our love
is romeo and juliet
that our love
is the love story that they will tell
to our children
and our children’s children.
that our love
is the ultimate.
that is why we build walls.
windows and doors and walls
these are things we’ve created
because it is part
of our idea of home.”

“i don’t need walls
to feel like i’m home with
you.” i said.
and your eyes glimmered
and i saw in them
what i think you must have seen
when you looked over
the wall
at the end
of the universe.

COPYRIGHT BRICE MAIURRO 2013

READ “WHITE SMOKE”

WHITE SMOKE

will you fix what’s broken?
will you travel all the globe?
will you kiss the pavements?
will you wear the finest robes?

will you cure the sickness?
will you stand amongst the brave?
will you move the eyes of watchers?
will you eat the things you crave?

will you sign the papers?
will you wave at waving hands?
will you teach us Earthly sinners
the way a good man stands?

will you read from written speeches?
will you speak from heart and soul?
will you look to fill your pockets
from pockets full of holes?

i know not where you go now
but i know from where you’ve came.
will you twist the hands of history
or keep its shape the same?

the Vatican falls silent.
the winds of change, they roll.
the chimney burns with white smoke;
St. Peter’s bells do toll.
In the eye of the storm of spirit
St. Peter’s bells do toll.

COPYRIGHT BRICE MAIURRO 2013

READ “HAIKU #2″

THE HANDS THAT REACH FOR WINTER

the hands

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

the hands that reach for winter
the nights that reach for pain
the guns that reach for murder
the fire burns the same

the beds that burn for lovers
the streets that turn like time
the art of stabbing in the back
the acidity of lime

the words that clasp like thunder
the planes that land unharmed
every righteous number
that we shoot into our arms

the man from california
the woman from d.c.
every foreign victim
from sea to shining sea

comforter of angels
chancellor of drugs
loving heart of death now
now the death of love

brilliant manifesto
child in the gutter
orphan military
absent-minded mothers

the sermon on the mount
the dusting of the crops
the clicking of the gears
the roller coaster drops

we fall
and we fall
and we fall
some more

we dig our graves
and dance with death

we talk like
virgins

we walk like
whores

we eat
until
there’s nothing left.

COPYRIGHT BRICE MAIURRO 2013

READ “HAIKU #1″

HAIKU #1

she spoke acid jazz.
i spoke wailing wallflower.
birds circled our heads.

COPYRIGHT BRICE MAIURRO 2013

SUBSCRIBE TO GUERRILLA GRAFFITI MAGAZINE,
THE ONLINE LIT MAG I’LL BE LAUNCHING SOON.

ARAPAHOE COUNTY, COLORADO

you’re off in japan
with the giant cartoons and constant workflow
lost in the hustle and bustle of lines and railways
clinking bells and chaos noise symphonic

you’re off in san francisco
in a slanted city dizzy from the bicycles
burning through the silly traffic
stuck beside the bay
in a tower in chinatown where you drink
mai tais and study the gentrification of
dust below

you’re off in south south america
dancing on the edge of cape horn
hand in hand with a lover
your mind partially above frozen water
but so much more of your epileptic majesty
buried beneath
your hands reach for the south pole
as mine just reach out for you

you are lost amongst the redwoods
mourning the coming death of your loved one
you sit naked beside giants and you paint
with your fingers on the canvas in your lap
the trees don’t end until they get to heaven
you share the trees with heaven

you, stranger, are stuck in the madness of bangkok
the banging of pots and pans
guns, girls and ganja
massive heart attack motorcycle smog lady boy
mad mad madness
in transit from the sanity in your head
homeless and happy and we were so close to something

you are off in the void
the space between nothing and everything
the space between death and faith
fistful of pills
skull cracked against the bathroom tile
your book is still in the back of my car
we never finished our poem

you are out in the ether of the cosmos
you are dancing on trains with strange strangers
and cursing the dice that don’t roll sevens
it’s half past nine and you’re half past eleven
it’s pointless to try to write you

you are off somewhere strange
but you are still adamantly here in my heart
in my chest
in arapahoe county, colorado

COPYRIGHT BRICE MAIURRO 2013

READ “DRIVING DOWN ORCHARD ROAD”

DRIVING DOWN ORCHARD ROAD

beneath the wooden hands of angels
through the rusty Colorado dirt
alongside the cold wind
that feels like warm hands

orchard road, you hold my soul
you speak so softly, luminary
your dead tree breath of pine and winter
white lines float across your sky

i fall deep into your ancient threshold
your winding veins of endless trail
bristle and color and water and fire

my heart does not beat within you
the old do not die within you
love is a stone wall within you
the strongest autumn falls within you

orchard road, you hold my soul
you hold my soul, and i hold yours

you just close my eyelids
and sing lullabies that wash away
the hurt that hides inside my bone
and the pain i’ve inflicted on the world

COPYRIGHT BRICE MAIURRO 2013

 

CALL FOR BLOGGERS

Hi Everyone:

First off, thank you all so much for your support of 02.2013. In my opinion, it was a great success. It was very interesting forcing myself to write something each day, and doing something I really like to, which is trying to widen the spectrum of my poems as much as possible.

Now, I’m beginning work on a new project, which I’m going to give a working title of ANT Magazine, until I have an official title.

I am looking for motivated to people to work for this blog and I am looking for a wide variety of things.

I have decided to drive this blog/ online magazine from the idea that bloggers can post what they want/ when they want. I want my bloggers to have the freedom to do as they please, because I want them to have fun, and in turn, for the blog to be fun. Thus far, I have a couple poets signed on, photographers, artists, and even a pair of guys who are going to write about bad b-movies. Here’s some ideas of what else I’d be looking for.

  • Reviewers (Music, Movies, Book, Calendars, Gyms, Restaurants, Starbucks locations, I don’t care)
  • Artists (I don’t care if you make GIFs,or intricate water paintings or digital art, I could be looking for what you have. I’d really even like to have a talented doodler.)
  • Alt Lit People (If you don’t know what alt lit is, this one doesn’t apply to you. If you do, I want your poetry, I want your memes, I want your short stories.)
  • Film (I am really looking for good youtubers to post videos to the site. Once again, open-minded to what you got. I would love some funny videos.)
  • Photographers (I would love photographers whose pieces stand alone and I would also love photographers who if I said “take me pictures related to “night” or “fourth of July” could deliver them in about a week. Experience does not matter. Talent and motivation do.
  • I would really like to have someone to write on feminism on the blog, as this is a topic that is very important to me.
  • Anything else. If you hula hoop, and want to post instructional hula hoop videos, I’d like you to apply. If you sing and play guitar, send me your videos. If you are a badass list maker or nutritionist or tech geek, I’d like you to apply.

IMPORTANT NOTE! You do not have to be American. I want this blog to have a global community and other cultures and countries are not only requested to apply, but I insist they do. I do have to ask that you can write English though. I’m sorry.

Most of all, I want people sharing their passions. I’m trying to make a community out of this. I want my bloggers interacting with our readers. I want people to have a reason to come back, and I want this to be a blog about sharing with the world, not making money. (haha… blogs making money.)

If you are interested, please send me something about yourself and an example of what you have to offer to bricemaiurro@gmail.com.

I hope everyone interested will apply.

Thank you,

Brice