THE CITY AND THE MOUNTAIN

your love eclipses me like a shadow
like six months of winter
like warm death and whiskey dreams
your snow falls like fragments of white time
like picket signs gathering in peaceful demonstration
the wind is our carrier pigeon
and i do nothing all day long
but write you love letter after love letter
after love letter after love letter
you lift me a mile off the ground
you make my breaths short and intentional
beneath your rocky skyline
beneath your metallic peaks
i am beautiful and inconsequential
your love is forever
and your forever love is the sound of air
against a car window

a winding road / a one way street
a pedicabber / a ponderosa
a deer in headlights / a jaywalker
a flaming crucifix / a lookout mountain
a homeless man / a mountain man
a book on a shelf
and a book in the dust of the dirt
a petroglyph / a river
a bottle of beer smashed on a dirt path
an empty city / an angry sandstorm
an acoustic guitar / an electronic machine
a gypsy / dancing to the future soundtrack
a robot / dancing in the light of lumineers
a light show / an aurora
a sunset / a dubstep drop

smoke
smoke from the city
smoke from the mountain
smoke from the mouths of tiny buddhas
smoke from the mouths of giant fools

you catch me always unprepared
without a sweater without a hand to hold
without a lover to keep me warm
without a care in the world
you catch me you catch me
like a glancing stranger in a lucid dream

i run my calloused guitar fingers
up and down your spine
and you run me back and forth
between your head and your heart
this balancing act
of freedom and love
the city and the mountain

COPYRIGHT BRICE MAIURRO 2014

READ “I CAN’T AFFORD TO DRIVE TO HANGING LAKE”

About these ads

MARCH 12TH

and here i am
burning fossil fuels in the pitch black
something
carving through the rockies
meandering down I70 like a punch-
drunk fool.

tonight, my love!
i kiss you
goodbye.
your trees are green
with envy
but i
have got to
confirm

that there is a world
past your western
slope.

i am slipping
through the cracks
in a black soul.

and this black soul of mine
seems
nervous;
a puppy, with its
tail between its
legs.

breckenridge burns to the ground
in my rear-view.
and my rear-view mirror
frames flashlight city
chasing after me
but this storm
can’t be caught.

this vehicle
is in motion.

i want my eyes to be
panoramic.
i want my limbs to
stretch history.
i need to know what my feet
feel like
in utah.
i have to breathe in the grand canyon’s
sighs
and the artificial air of vegas
casinos.

i am not retracing anyone’s footsteps.

and i am
not
tracing my
shape
into someone else’s
shadow.

i am disappearing.

i want to know
how it feels
to be in a ghost town.
i want to know how it feels
to be
a ghost town.

(may america lend me the disorient-
ation of not having the mountains to show me
which way west is.)

i need to talk to strangers
uncomfortably
and wake up
hungover
in the afterbirth of the womb
of the west.

i am not trying to erase
christianity.
i am trying to
talk to god
first-hand.

i want to see god’s face
without
any makeup on.

i want to hear that
voice:
mountain whistles
slot machine jingles
tumbleweed scratches
bob dylan’s harmonica

i know god exists.
i just want to meet him in
unexpected
places.

please…
sweetheart
try to understand.
i will
boomerang back to you-
don’t take it personally that
i shoot through your veins at
eightyfivemilesperhour
it’s not in your nature to be so
low.
and tonight!
in the darkest of dark

we can be whatever we want to be.

i’m letting my gut
blindfold my mind
throw ‘em in the trunk
and drive
us all
into
oblivion.

the road there is lit
solely by mountain stars
close enough to grab
between the boulders
and the neon stripper signs
i am sway-
ing like a crane game.

on the road
i am finally home

on the road
i am charming
and good company

on the road
i am as confused and conflicted and beautiful as
america

it’s march 12th
(happy birthday, jack kerouac)

COPYRIGHT BRICE MAIURRO 2012

READ “SOAP OPERA OF VAMPIRES”

RANT POETRY COMPETITION

REDHEAD (TO DENVER)

my dear
you
are between a rock and a hard place
your face does not illuminate the same as the others
your lights are few and speckled
but i’ve always loved freckles
you are a grid system at first glance
i know they tell you real women have curves
but real women know better than that
sometimes you are cold and the conversation runs dry
but it’s not easy being as high as you are all the time
i love you
i never want to leave you
and i know you don’t believe me
but you are the nerdy, artsy girl
who turns out to be an angel in disguise
your heart is too full
you take in the battered, the bruised, the hungry the used and they try to tell you your heart is a cash register
but i have heard your heart ticking at the cabaret tower
sixteenth street the prettiest string to play on your cello soul
i am in love with you
you smell like the west
you are the little sister anxiously awaiting her groom
california, california, california
they all leave you for california
but you and i both know they’ll be back
california is a pathological liar
her lie detector tests look like her richter scales
it is you i love
when i am within you i hear your quiet insecure voice
you’ve been torn up, torn down
and the mountains will always put a blanket on your cold bare shoulders
your children
they play along the light rail tracks
they run off to school at d.u. at m.s.c.d. at b.f.e.
but at the end of the night, they’ll always come back
i am a part of you, beautiful
let the jesters run off to hollywood
we will show our unpainted faces to the world together
“next stop, 10th and osage” you whisper
“convention center”
“pepsi center elitch gardens”
let them think you’re vain
i know why you stop where you do
i know in december you get lonesome for your heroes
you refrigerate poetry in your cold air
the mercury cafe measuring your temperature
big blue bear
your awkward oversized blatant invitation
2 am your resignation
some cities neep to sleep
new york never dreams
my love, don’t cry
the tears will freeze in your eyes
you are the red winter rose that grows slowly
you are an indie movie theater
you are a redhead
you are my lover
my midnight streetlight as i caress up and down you elevators
you are leela’s coffee
and the tarantula billiards
you are not wells fargo
they may tattoo you
but you are swing dancing at dazzle and above poetry cafes
you are 18th and market 21st and wynkoop union station tattered cover cheeseman park wash park everywhere inside of yourself
you are two-fisted mario’s blasting shit metal into your bitter chilly hair
you are the girl in a hoody and a skirt
hot dog stands that new york rejected and chicago was too tired for
you are the moodiest girl i know
you get a little too drunk on coors light
and you let far too many stoners crash on your city park couch
your heating bill is way too high
and you are never the same person twice
but i like crazy girls
the mad ones
and i know you will get the everything you desire
just keep being a mile above the rest
freckleface
a beautiful underdog who dances best drunk

COPYRIGHT BRICE MAIURRO 2012

READ “BOSTON LOGAN”