BLOOD ON THE AMERICAN HIGHWAY

there is blood on the american highway
red paint splattered on white median lines beneath a blue sky
we run from coast to coast
we take off in the night, trunk left open, and we fly through the eye of the needle
into the rocky mountains in search of the final sun
that sun which burns brightly dying for california
we kiss the hills along the way
we salute the cold night concrete with lit cigarettes left to ash
we don’t know where we go
we just do as the green signs tell us to

the lostest of the lost pioneers
disoriented we are disoriented we follow the smoke signals
we drive right through the indian ghost the song of the past
we just blast the radio as if we could fill the sky with sound
great american rock sound
blaring guitars, raging drums, and the bass that moves
like a convertible through the wind
the sound through your head

this is our american song
rewritten and rewritten again
we search for freedom in its bars
independence in four four time
this is our american song
waking up in motel sixes with no cigarettes
and the t.v. is on for noise
and the sex through the wall
and the jingling of slot machines down the hall
and the hum of the ice machine
check out time is eleven o clock

we wrote our song into our constitution
first we decided we would be free
then we decided we needed guns
and we threw a couple to alabama
and we threw a few more to texas
and we boarded up the borders that we broke down

there are lights in fields in plains of kansas
to light the gymnasium swaying to high school dance
we move our hips like pioneers
we throw our hands up in the air
and when the music dies down
we drive to the tops of hills that look down on the nothing
and we kiss like we have to

then we’re off again
down the bloody american highway
through cities and deserts and fields and mountains
and more cities and we’re going where no one else has gone
at least that’s what we tell ourselves

we throw on our kerouac hats
and put an eighth of ginsberg in our glove compartment
we load up our hemingways into the trunk
and we drive
we drive into the most unnatural horizon
we move down the bloody american highway
tank on e, stuck with the am radio through the worst parts of utah
we move at so many miles per hour
of course
there is blood on the american highway

COPYRIGHT BRICE MAIURRO 2013

READ “BEN”

About these ads

1994 SEATTLE LOVE SONG

seattle

minor chords amongst the dust
i’m the only one who comes to your show
the ground is littered
with empty bottles of cough syrup
i stand among the wreckage
and i watch you destroy yourself
i can’t look away
from the mirror you hold to me

i can’t escape the morphine sea storm in your eyes
envy’s eyes are as green as yours
envy’s eyes are as green as yours
you’ve got me wrapped up in your small pox blanket

you’re a newspaper fire burning in a rusty trash can
a shopping cart in hashbury at night
you’re not as glorious as i’ve made you out to be

i’m a gas fire and you’re the water
i’m a gas fire and you’re the water

i’ll burn like big giant factories
i will give you a sunset
the color of chemicals

minor chords amongst the dust

you left your phone in the car
along with our 1994 seattle love song
our song of retribution in a wasteland
we are just getting lost in different drugs

what happens when glass slippers slide
on black ice

we are the sound
of an i.v.
drip

i swear you smell
like kurt cobain

you taste like
sonic youth

someone popped
every single one
of the balloons
at our birthday party

someone left the car on in the garage

envy’s eyes are as green as yours
i can’t escape your morphine sea storm

COPYRIGHT BRICE MAIURRO 2013

READ “TOO FAR DEEP”

NATIONAL ANTHEM OF ANYWHERE

beautiful land!
you are the only
beautiful land for me
this is where i live

our bright history
our human roots
our sense of pride
for our sense of pride
it is for you i make
some sacrifice

when things get
somehow difficult
you continue on

we believe in these values here

you are where i live
so for you, i love you more
i will die
for the perspective of life
that you
have thrust upon me!

the only one
i’ve ever known

COPYRIGHT BRICE MAIURRO 2013

READ “DEATH RATTLE”

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

READ “SEVERAL THOUGHTS ON A FLY IN MY BEDROOM TONIGHT”

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