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Hey guys,

If you enjoy my stuff and want to know when I post new stuff, take a second and follow me on Facebook. It means a lot. If you leave a comment with your Facebook page, I’ll be sure to reciprocate.

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Thanks a lot.

Love,
Brice

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BATHROOM STALL AT THE KING SOOPERS ON MONACO AND LEETSDALE

on one wall of the bathroom stall
at monaco and leetsdale
someone took the time
to carve an upside down crucifix into the wall
beneath which they carved
“FUCK GOD. GOD IS EVIL.”

to which another stranger retorted
“IF GOD IS EVIL
THEN THE ONLY TRUTH
IS DEATH”

someone in agreeance
circled the world “DEATH”
and added “EXACTLY!”

another someone put
“THESE PEOPLE NEED GOD IN THEIR LIVES”

and one person
holiest of them all
wrote
“I’M JUST HERE 2 POOP”

Hallelujah. Amen.

COPYRIGHT BRICE MAIURRO 2014

READ “WALLFLOWER AT THE HIGH SCHOOL DANCE”

THE GREAT WAVE OF KANAGAWA

there is sunlight dancing in dust
on the other side of my bed where you could be
where we could be
and be and just truly be
fingers like eyes surveying the horizon
warmth radiating like the birth of a new sun
betweenus no thing and everythingever
we could yin and yang and rock and roll
until we both push out every single stressful breath
left within our sore souls and our clumsy bodies
left to rest beside you resting beside me
(resting beside you resting beside me)
this we could have this we are we are we have always
been and always will be the truth of love
and the desperate desire of skin
to touch the skin of your skin
the cracked paint of your weathered home
legs twisting around mine like unstoppable vines
like restless music through the wall
but you are not through the wall you are
mount fuji (sacred) and i am the great wave of kanagawa
crashing upon you
in this painting somewhere
on the other side of the world
tucked away
behind bulletproof glass

COPYRIGHT BRICE MAIURRO 2014

READ “WAITING ROOM”

DONNIE DARKO

this is a photo of a window. it is intentional bleak.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

the past and the future
come crashing into my room
like a jet engine
like my name is
donnie darko
like the world can’t just
sit still for a second
like the world is
a 7 year old boy
who just ate a box of
trix cereal and
a bunch of cocaine
and i hear the monsters
through the paper wall
at 9:52 in the
grey morning
i hear the monster mother
yelling at her monster children
to get into their monster minivan
or they’re going to be late
for the day
that none of them look forward to
and if she ever sees me
she will smile
and all of a sudden
she will be as serene as monk
and the children will be silent
but that doesn’t solve my headache
and the truth that makes it swell
so i tinker at the
technological typewriter
and i calculate my odds
of finding a sincere real romantic
and human connection
on a planet
that can’t even wait in line
without tugging ferociously
on the sun’s pant leg
asking
are we there yet
are we there yet
are we there yet
and the sun imagines backhanding
the earth and how gratifying
that would be
but the sun knows that is wrong
and the planetary police
can’t arrest you
for what you stop yourself from doing
and looks like here we go
i should make myself some eggs and toast
i should open the blinds
and let that sun shine down on me
like an interrogation lamp
like an officer’s flashlight
as he asks me have you had anything to drink
and i say to him
i wish

COPYRIGHT BRICE MAIURRO 2014

READ “AMERICAN CHAOS”

NO ONE WANTS TO READ YOUR POETRY, BRO

no one wants to read your poetry, bro
no one wants to hear the premise
of the sci-fi novel you’re working on
nobody has the time to hear about your concept art
no one gives a crap about your mixtape

sorry, bro

there’s a reason that bob dylan
would corner people at parties and force them
to hear his songs

there’s a reason why walt whitman
wrote fake reviews about his poetry for
the newspaper

sometimes you gotta shove this shit
down people’s throats

you gotta be reckless
you gotta set yourself on fire
in public demonstration
just to get an ad listing
in the local paper

flail your arms around
like the wacky wailing arm-flailing
inflateable tube man
outside of car dealerships

no one gives a shit
about your art

so you’d better give them
a good god damn reason to start
giving a shit about you
and the crucial and beautiful things
you have to show and tell them

COPYRIGHT BRICE MAIURRO 2014

READ “SUNDAY AUGUST 10″

IN THE DIM LIGHT OF DENVER I DREAM

in the dim light of denver i dream
waiting for the light rail train to come
to station and i’ll board and i’ll close
my eyes and there before me she will be laying
naked beneath the blankets
speakers blasting from backpacks
bluegrass street kids tucked outside of
shops that have hung their closed signs
electricity hanging in the air like a
pending snowstorm and i am lost
oh so romantically lost and at home
and the old men and the homeless men
play chess and checkers and dice and streetlight
oh such sugary streetlight i kneel beneath thee
and worship my faceless god and she says to me
nothing

because this is a city in the middle of flatlands
a queen in the center of an empty chessboard
you have to hear the wind meander the clocktower
and sneak through the elitch garden ferris wheel
eclectic bars pushing and shoving each other for attention
country music clashing in the streets with hip hop
as great Buddhist mountains sit still in the west
watching like patient parents
waiting for their kids to grow up
they might have to wait a little longer

but there’s pedicabbers and buses and
bridges and oh my – marijuana!
and when the city fills with fog
you never know if it’s the breath of God
or just another saturday night
between a rock and a hard place
between the electronic agenda
and the folksong symphony
i am lost at home
almost
but for now
i dream in the dim light of denver
waiting for the light rail train

COPYRIGHT BRICE MAIURRO 2014

READ “LONELINESS IN DENVER”

SITTING IN YOUR DARK LIVING ROOM, WHILE YOU BLOWDRY YOUR HAIR

and i don’t know how long these things take
but i am quickly learning
across the room
you are wearing a beautiful, flowy dress
like always
your hand is on your hip
as your other hand grips the dryer
as hot wind blows
through your manic hair
the chairs in the living room
aren’t saying anything
the television
is completely off
you ask me
if i want a book to read or something
but i couldn’t be happier
than sitting in your dark living room
while you blowdry your hair

COPYRIGHT BRICE MAIURRO 2012

READ “SOME FLOWERS”

FOLLOW ME ON FACEBOOK

AMERICAN MEDITATION

driving home from the fight
speeding down 285
blaring good old fashioned american rock and roll
drowning my worries into night headlights

i could close my eyes in a silent field
i could breathe in and out slowly
i could focus on my blood flowing through my veins
but this is america
so i’m at home watching the god damn television
and i’m at home drinking the god damn whiskey
and i’m definitely not gonna call her

COPYRIGHT BRICE MAIURRO 2013

READ “EMERSON BRIDGE”

2 YEAR ANNIVERSARY

anniversary

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Two years ago today, I started this blog, and it’s been two amazing years. 3000+ followers later, it is good to know that someone out there still reads and enjoys poetry. Lately I’ve been rekindling my love for poetry and blogging and, honestly, it’s been difficult. Finding a balance between work and life and poetry isn’t as easy as it seems but every like, every sincere comment and every view I get reminds me why it’s important. Whether it’s brilliance or bullshit, every word you say could be the one that someone needed to hear. I think where I would be without the words of my fellow bloggers, without Kerouac, without Bukowski, without Vonnegut, without local poets, without music, without my family and friends and random strangers and without everything that has ever been said to me and it amazes me. Every word I say on this page came from somewhere else, so thank you all for keeping the words coming.

Love,
Brice

READ “MOUSEKETEER”