TOO FAR DEEP

and it’s getting
darker
and darker
by the
second
redefining
the concept of
black, the blackest of
black
and i’m not afraid

don’t
misunderstand me
for one second

i am not afraid
in the least, i am
content to
listen to the
sound of water
dripping
from
the
walls

i am happy
to listen to the wind
echoing circular

i am lost deep
in too deep
way too deep
too far deep

i’m running away from
something
into the arms of
death

i am trapped
inside a rising bottle of
poison
i am kissing
alice through the
looking glass

we are falling, our
guts in our mouths but
we are falling together
and i’m crossing
the line
the line
the edge
the point
where reason melts
like clocks
broken hands
of a clock
black eye
on its face
and seconds
are beats
in this
symphonic
movement

i am wide awake

i do not need light
to see i am everything

i can imagine myself
to be doors left open
the wind catching on the shades
red silk shades blowing
i am lost amongst them
whiskey dreams
absinthe nightmares
marijuana reality
the onyx shine
of the inside of
a beautiful
mind

skeletons
running on
treadmills
glow in the dark
thousands
and thousands
and thousands
around me
burn
down
the
curtains

my dear,
we don’t need them
let the stars dance with us
i can never be alone
as long as
you’re in
too far deep too
and you
are the muse i’ve made
you’ll never let go

a codine buzz
a disdain for yesterday
and i’m on it
i’m in too far deep
and my intent
is not to climb out

my intent
is to keep digging
until i get to
the
other
end
of my
reality

COPYRIGHT BRICE MAIURRO 2013

READ “THE HOUSE OF GOD”

About these ads

BEAUTIFUL HOUR

sometimes it’s just too much to ever handle
there’s too many woman with eyes like intelligent design
there’s a sun that has burned for all of us
and will always continue to burn for all of us
and when we don’t have that, we have the moon
we have the moon and the stars and the black silk sky
and the oceans that reflect the light so we’re captured
we’re captured between the two and we don’t have a choice
but to see ourselves as one common entity
we are all, all of us, every single one of us
part of the same vehicle of life, don’t flatter yourself
you are not something special
you are amongst a billion special things
we need to seek this out in one another, in everyone
we need to remember the way
that we help to push the grass out of the ground
we must remember the way that a heart can succumb
to a bass line, i’m not even joking
your heart can literally adjust to the music it hears
and it definitely can adjust to those around you
so i beg of you to answer, why can’t our eyes see
why can’t we appreciate the million instruments
that surround us, and the glorious grandiose
extraterrestial superhuman cataclysmic kaleidoscopic
kandinskily colorful grandiloquent magnum opus of existence?

you don’t know
none of us know
we make up questions
and we find answers
but we can feel each other’s presence
we know when someone is looking at us
we can feel love
never forget that one
we can feel love
sometimes it’s easy to get separated from that
but it’s there
i assure you
right now
i have enough for all of you
and i’m trying to pass it on
i can’t hold onto it
i’ll explode
we’d all explode
be unafraid to love those around you
be unafraid of what is different
because the things that are the same
are boring, they’re boring
and you don’t want to go to the same grocery store
at the same time
to see the same boring faces
and buy the same foods
and check out with the same cashier
every day of your short short short short short life
life is not very long
bad days drag out tugging at our legs
to appreciate the good ones

open your mind
open your eyes
open your arms
open your rib cage
and let that god damn drum beat
let it beat
let it beat like it has never beat before
bleed on the canvas of life
do not be afraid
of being too happy
there is no such thing
there are no limits
that’s the god damn point
you will not put a period on the end of a sentence
you are a conjunction
you are the connective tissue of everything
we need you
i need you
even if i don’t know it
reassess the hatred in your life
what aren’t you doing?
what should you be doing?
who should you be calling?
what do you have to say to who?
i guarantee you
i fucking guarantee you they will be glad to hear it
even if it’s bad news
and there is bad news
just open
regret there not being more hours in the day
and that is all
i want you to imagine yourself smiling
and now i want you to smile
can you do that for me?

can you do that for me?

COPYRIGHT BRICE MAIURRO 2013

READ “BUKOWSKI #2″

Interesting in submitting to Flashlight City Blues?

EDWARD HOPPER*

*formatted, using the notes of American artist Edward Hopper and his wife Jo

Night
+ brilliant interior of
cheap restaurant.

Bright items:

cherry wood counter
+ tops of surrounding
stools; light on metal tanks
at rear right;

brilliant streak
of jade green tiles
3/4 across canvas-
at base of glass
window
curving around the
corner.

Light walls,

dull
yellow
ocre
door
into kitchen right.

Very good looking
blond boy
in white (coat, cap)
inside counter.

Girl in red blouse,

brown hair

eating sandwich.

Man night hawk
(beak)
in dark suit,
steel grey hat,
black band,
blue shirt (clean)
holding cigarette.

Other figure
dark
sinister
back-
at left.

Light side walk
outside
pale greenish.

Darkish red brick
house opposite.

Sign across
top of restaurant,
dark-
Phillies 5c cigar.

Picture of cigar.

Outside of shop dark,
green.

Note:
bit of bright
ceiling
inside shop

against dark of
outside street

-at edge
of stretch
of top
of window.

COPYRIGHT BRICE MAIURRO 2012

LINK TO EDWARD HOPPER’S “NIGHTHAWKS”

READ “WHERE HAVE YOU GONE TO, AMERICA?”

“A SUMMER CIGAR” BY NICI E. BROWN

Recently, I ran into this poem and thought it was fantastic. I know it’s the middle of winter, but I think maybe that is the best time for a summer cigar.

A Summer Cigar

Glass splits burgundy into facets
through the crystal ball of a wine glass
that has no power to tell the future,
only quiet it down to a numbness.
I have to laugh at the idea
of a ten dollar bottle of wine paired
with a ten dollar cigar.
It takes four matches to light -
What hidden pleasures
will the thick, spicy smoke enhance
in my cheap Malbec?I hear the neighbors cursing at each other,
taking the stress of back-to-back retail jobs
and a janitorial position during graveyards
out on the family they work for,
the bus hydraulics hissing from Meridian,
an immigrant grandmother laughing as she ticks
off hopscotch numbers with her first-generation
grand-daughter in between planting
her soon-to-be blooming annuals in the neat
boxes of her tiny Garden of Eden
in poor East Boston, a pristine space, the only thing
still sandwiched between calamity and the sea.

Smoke curls from my lips
to cast about into the breeze.
I have to keep pace with the cigar
and carefully note the wind’s strength.
If I smoke too little
the flame will go out.
Sometimes I think we could break with the intensity
that’s in the beauty of a single moment in our own skins
but the taste is fleeting,
quick to be scattered away.

Life only deals out
happiness fractured into fragments
here and there, from time to time.
For some reason, I always reach
for the same happiness recipe
though I never have the same ingredients.
You’ve got to learn to cook what’s in your kitchen.

It’s been a long winter, so
get drunk on summer, and spin
what love you can from the warm air.

When the cigar burns down,
the closer [it] gets to my lips, the
sparser my breaths become, or
it’ll burn too hot.

READ MORE POEMS BY NICI E. BROWN

READ “A GIRL NAMED AMERICA” BY ME, BRICE MAIURRO

Interested in having a poem featured? Email me at bricemaiurro@gmail.com. Please just one submission at a time, until I get back to you.

DREAM

don’t lay me down
to sleep
in a quiet room
dark
and serene

teach me to sleep
in a shaky room
where the
railroad trains come by
in the middle of the night
and shake the floorboards

where the lights
flicker
and children
scream
and sirens
blare

one hundred
and fifty degrees
warm

in a bed
filled with bed bugs
and
a nagging lover

i want to be prepared
to dream in a world
where it’s
damn near impossible
to dream.

COPYRIGHT BRICE MAIURRO 2012

READ “SITTING IN YOUR DARK LIVING ROOM WHILE YOU BLOW DRY YOUR HAIR”

NIGHT OWL

the sun always invites himself in in the morning
picking up the half-empty p.b.r. cans
and judging the full ash tray
he judges the obscure notes
on crumpled-up sheets of paper
he judges the rotting food
and the air
that tastes like leftover sex
and unbrushed teeth
he judges the fist-sized hole in the wall
and the painting that fell down
during the world war of last night
now gone cold

he doesn’t get it
he’ll never understand
the happiness that we allow ourselves
when his back is turned

COPYRIGHT BRICE MAIURRO 2012

READ “CLEVER SALT SHAKERS”

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”

IT’S A “LISTEN TO THE BEATLES ON VINYL THROUGH HEADPHONES” KIND OF NIGHT

after a
“walking home in the cold without a jacket”
kind of day

where i talked to
“god, you love to hear yourself talk”
kinds of people

who have
“i am passionate about reality t.v. and partying to bad pop music”
kind of personalities

when all i want is a
“this is just life; hold on and don’t fall asleep during the pretty parts”
kind of vibe in the air

or
“sometimes sitting alone drinking whiskey and reading whatever it is in my hands”
kinds of afternoons

where
“i have way better shoes than all of you”
kinds of people are missing

when the air is
“i don’t know what temperature or density this air is, but i fucking love it”
kind of air

it’s a
“whatever we feel like.
don’t stop for hitchhikers.
command your troops to battle.
pretend to love your enemies.
kiss and tell.
morning-after pill.
age-defying cream.
music video marathon.
green grass
with a body in the basement.
eight-bit delusion.
fix yourself.”
kind of world.

when all i want is a
“listen to the beatles on vinyl in my headphones”
kind of night

COPYRIGHT BRICE MAIURRO 2012

READ “ON GOOD DAYS”

337

to burn the daylight and piss on its ashes
chasing shadows at night into sure madness and love the idea of falling in love with this dark woman who could not possibly love me back

she is everywhere all at once, the night, she refills my wine glass and rubs my shoulders
she lurks about the house in high heels and a little black dress that is by far the best little black dress there is
she howls, strips down to her skin and her skeleton bangs through the walls of her insanity

and all i want, here in the cold warmth of her soft skin, is to let loose the stars that fall from her forehead like beads of sweat
she never wants to cuddle, has no time, we burn together, we burn like radioactive delusion
we burn like buildings, we burn like cities buried beneath your nice happy boring life
god shakes our little grasshopper in a jar and from the pressure she explodes; explodes like a volcano bursting across the universe like a million little rampant children of fireworks and debris

she holds my hand, and not the other way around, she asks me to dance with her hips and we kiss like we’re hiding down back alleys from the cops of morning
we bang like wine glasses filled to the brim with sensational orgasm and god, does she always light my cigarette for me

i spin her around my glass and envelope her as she envelopes me as i envelope her as she envelopes me from the inside out and the outside in and we’re twisting and turning and burning writhing deciding we’re waiting for morning to come to destroy our yearning
to burn the daylight and piss on its ashes

COPYRIGHT BRICE MAIURRO 2012

READ “MICKEY MOUSE FOR PRESIDENT”