MADNESS IN RESPONSE TO MINGUS

the room looks extra dark tonight
the lights of the lamps all off somewhere else
on, i guess, a kind of mental vacation
man, i could use a mental vacation
it feels like it’s the same damn thing
again and again and again and again
and then i’ll break free from the mad mad madness
and then again! and again! and again!
and i’m rolling myself up in my flea bitten persian rug
and i’m rolling around my walls at home
and i’m high on the ceiling rolling, rolling, rolling
eyes dizzying, eyes jazz, just fuckin busting out of my mind
weird

those weird days
they seem to be multiplying
rising exponentially and having so much fun
running around my skull and eating all the food in my mental pantry
and i’m trying, man, i mean, really, i’m trying to work through
the jazz and the chaos and it probably doesn’t help
that all i crave is the jazz and the chaos and the bouncing soul
of a triumphant bass line that slows down
it slows down. it slows down. and i can catch my breath.
and run a bath and close my eyes and sink into the water
and not think about what monsters are clawing at the other side
of the bathroom door

i can just relax
no errands to be run or calls to be made
no bills to be paid and no problems buzzing at the door
i can just be and find myself proudly naked and proudly alone
i don’t even care for the mirror
i don’t care to form my hair into a graceful shampoo mohawk
i can just sit and sit and sink into the hot running bathwater
and not think about the bills and the problems buzzing
and buzzing and buzzing and buzzing at the door
and the woman gnawing at my missed call list and the high wearing off
as the bathwater becomes luke warm and who am i kidding
i am still in crisis i’m living in crisis
it’s where i’ve made my home and if i’m not aware of the madness
i am searching for it
and i’m always searching for it
because i get just too damn bored
sitting in this room, in this room, my room
it’s not my room, i can’t take claim
it’s not my room
it’s just a place that i try and be
and stare into the light
but the room looks extra dark tonight

COPYRIGHT BRICE MAIURRO 2013

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LOST AND BEAT AND NOW

we’ve been through a lot of time in the desert
we’ve been through the hollow barrel of a pistol
we’ve been through a seance
a table of writers stirring over dotting a question mark
we’ve been lost amongst ourselves
robbed apartments, gutted houses, fumigated homes
dead lawns, sprayed down by chemical agents of chaos
we were hollow. we were stuffed.
we paraded around in ambulances.

we’ve been through a lot of time barefoot on the living room floor
we’ve been through smoky headlights in new york city
we’ve been bruised, and bloodied up
for spitting on the sidewalk
we’ve been left with pens and notebooks in psych wards
we’ve been pressed for time, energy and money
we’ve found our sunflower and allowed it to wilt

now i’m  not  so certain of what we are
we’re some cosmic whirlpool of our grandfather’s dust
intentionally unintentional violent reactions of peace
we are made with metal bones and eyes like pixels
we are lighting the kerosene rope so the past can’t climb up after us
we are drowning out the television in our dirty bathwater
we are rebuilding our houses with more tolerance between the bricks
we are putting down hardwood floors over our burial plots
we are burning down bridges because we can swim across oceans
we are here to be labeled by you, dear future
we will try to be kind if you promise to do your best to be

COPYRIGHT BRICE MAIURRO 2012

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