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″

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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

READ “EFFIGY”

E CARDS

I just discovered a site today where you can make your own cards, but more importantly you can use the site to put funny stuff out into the universe. For example, I made this card on the site, and plan to make many more.

Here’s the site: www.someecards.com

NUCLEAR CREATION

this is the sound of the chaos that lives within the opium dens of the minds of the modern day pubescent creatures who crawl across midnight streets
they swim through the sound, they pierce their swollen skin with the needles of toxic ideology and the dance music of devils
the fires that burn in guts like drugs, like the fizzle of disease, like the acidic aftertaste of childhood but still all the red orange yellows and the green blue indigos glow on their faces racing for less sleep and more dilemma
we crave the taste of gravel, the god twisting turn tables, the agents of social murder, the proprietors of sore bodies and the come down from ecstatic heights
this is the world that we duplicate and spin on table tops in smoky lounges the size of problematic arenas, this is the kiss between morbid girls and suicidal boys
what we have on our hands is nuclear creation, to counterbalance nuclear destruction
this is windows down, hair blowing in faces, the bass blasting like super soakers into the hollow universe of three in the morning and we make birthquakes that everyone feels in their bones and veins but god, if most of us are just too numb to even want to notice

this is the sound of the chaos that lives within the opium dens of the minds of the modern day pubescent creatures who crawl across midnight streets
‘together we can face that rock and roll’, together we can chase radioactive unicorns to our destinies as demi-gods of a new hope for a better reality and a truer love
and today our parents hate us for it, but one day our ancestors will lift us to the technicolor sky and stare in awe as we present to them our magnum opus, our thunder and lightning show

COPYRIGHT BRICE MAIURRO 2012

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

THE PSYCHOLOGICAL WARFARE OF VARINIA RODRIGUEZ

her words are semi-automatic rounds fired from her metal gut
do not fuck with her
this girl knows how to say “cunt”
emphasizing each consonant like a brooklynite biting his tongue
she stands like a soldier
on stage she sets herself on fire and its the audience who are left with third degree burns
leather jacket and heels
a camel hanging off her red lipstick
her red lipstick a soapbox
for the symphonic neurotic urgent purging of the psychological warfare of varinia rodriguez

she is a punk rock train plummeting down the ugly slopes of the rocky mountains into sure oblivion
she screeches, sparks fly from the silver tongue permanently embedded in her cheek
but then she pulls the emergency brake and from the chainsaw sound of chaos
the train stops
in the silence she makes firm eye contact
points a forty-four magnum at your chest
you can almost hear the heartbeats in her bullets

chaos and well-thought out speeches
order and sober drunk shit storms from heaven
none of us are safe from the psychological warfare of varinia rodriguez

(i challenged her to whiskey
and as i dropped an ice cube in my glass
i’m fine
she says
this girl
the ice
just waters it down
i’ll drink you under the table she said
and we toasted
to new regrets
and at the very least
bad poetry)

the psychological warfare of varinia rodriguez
is not easily saturated to the regimens of pen and paper
it is violence with feathers
it is peace with bombs
it is words like unfiltered cigarettes
mental pictures like sepia snapshots
it’s a short girl standing on 4 am tables crying honest
a decibel in her voice for every woman, man and child who cannot vocalize
varinia’s poetry is getting kicked out of bullshit stores for breaking in the sales windows
i bet some nights she sits at the window like a cat, anxious of everything
i bet some nights she sits at the window like a sniper, anxious of everything

the psychological warfare of varinia rodriguez
you have two options
hear what she has to say or hear what she has to say
and stubbornness is irrelevant
when honesty is pertinent
and varinia rodriguez is a loud speaker
and varinia rodriguez is a warm hug from an old friend in the cold breath of denver
and varinia rodriguez is a song that you have to hear now not later
and the psychological warfare of varinia rodriguez is the heart under the floorboards breaking though with a crowbar while you’re trying to sleep in ignorance
but it is inevitable

 

COPYRIGHT BRICE MAIURRO 2012