02.12

0212

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

(head. heart. gut.)
head.
heart.
gut.

i believe
with all of my heart
with every ounce of logic
and with that rawest of instinct
that this is all we are made of.

the heart beats
and blood rushes to the head
and the gut twists
the gut writhes inside of us all
and they are all bickering
loudly and honestly
and with no sense of reservation
trying to decide
what to do
and who we are
and where
we are going.

head.
heart.
gut.
this holiest trinity
that resides within us all.
let us pray.

let us pray first of all
that we acknowledge our hearts
that though they do not have a mouth
nor a check-in box on a voting ballot
that they do in fact have something to say
the heart will endlessly be compared to a drum
i will never stop comparing the heart to a drum
because deep
deep in the dark forest of night
at the core of our jungle is the purest of black
but there resides the drum
the drum that beats and fire rises around it
and the people gather within us
to form great circles around the heart
and we honor that which allows us to love
and forgive ourselves
that it also has allowed all of us to hate
but the drum beats either way
systolic elation
diastolic revelation
the cause
and the effect
the river
and its ripple
the vibration
and its echo
and it shakes water from deep lakes within us
and they rise to our eyes when called upon
when we cannot hold in
that which makes us human
and when our heart declares war
it is our head that begins to prepare

our head
a great philosopher
pacing around our skull
unrolling maps
and sticking thumbtacks
in foreign lands
crashing meticulously knights
into fragile queens
and claiming checkmate
when it has seen ahead
of the face across the table
it is the head that allows us to keep the heart
the eyes that move along the words
that turns madness into reality
that turns reality into the past

and some things
do not belong to emotion
some things
do not belong to logic or reason
some things are written
by an invisible hand
that moves us through harsh winter
into uncertainty
the gut
raw as raw
the gut that does not tell you what to do
it does
the hand that removes itself from the hot fire
the moment when nothing can explain why
that it is this
that you have to do

and the head and the gut they bicker
and they always bicker
and get into loud shouting matches
over anything and everything
as the heart tells them both to calm down
as if the heart doesn’t have its fair share
of shouting matches
with them both
but they have to do this

head.
heart.
gut.

thought.
love.
instinct.

three sailors
lost in our sea
in a boat barely big enough
for them all.

to think.
to love.
to act.

what else is there to do?

COPYRIGHT BRICE MAIURRO 2013

READ 02.2013, THE NEXT ENTRY IN THE 02.2013 PROJECT

02.2013 is a twenty-eight day project chronicling my february of 2013 through poetry. to read the entries from the beginning CLICK HERE

About these ads

02.08

0208

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

(midnight hype with ratatat.)

atrophy, apathy and the letters between lovers
disect your very core to try and find the blind
the walk of shame through the halls of college dorms
the parasail that treads too close to water
let’s unshelter the shelters, let’s unveil the mask of sanity
let the world see our naked scarred unshaven selves
we will sit elevated in a glass box above times square
and frozen in time we will move as fast as traffic
if life is a graph of time versus love versus change
what would happen if you crumpled up the sheet of paper
the equation was written on?

condense your density. make true your individual rhythm.
martyr your dark dark dark dark dark heart
and allow yourself to become as soft as soft symphony
cram your head full of knowledge then let it all go
binge and purge. create then destroy. love then let love.
you have a finite amount of infinite to give the infinite.
your hourglass figure can only be flipped so many times
requiem. become requiem. become undeniable. stand
on the pedestal that you have created
from cracks in the sidewalk you stepped on
when you break your mothers back consider the fact
that maybe you adjusted the lump in her spine
close your history books and listen to the eyes of auschwitz
the scars of pearl harbor, the radiation of hiroshima
take a shot of nagasaki and chase it with karoshi
we’re all melting like the wicked witch of the west
we are all bleeding like the eternal tsunami of the east
our stripy socks shrivel up beneath the house hovering over our heads

we rob peter to pay paul and then we use paul’s money
to take peter’s girl out for a night on the town
but she never calls because she’s in love with paul
and we ignore the fall, the mighty fall of the american empire
and the fire, it burns us all the same, we have only ourselves
and a thousand past lives left to blame, we’re so brash
do not ask what you can do for your country
once we see the fire it burns us all the same, we’re so brash
ash to ash, dust to dust, from first to last lashes
ashes to ashes
we
all
fall
down

COPYRIGHT BRICE MAIURRO 2013

READ 02.09, DAY 9 OF THE 28 DAY 02.2013 PROJECT

02.2013 is a twenty-eight day project chronicling my february of 2013 through poetry. to read the entries from the beginning CLICK HERE

BEN

we were gathered around
the four of us
in standard party circle
beers in hand
when he interjected

“the hardest thing
i’ve ever had to do
is to deliver a flag
to my friends’ parents.
i had to stand there
saluting
straight faced
while i waited for them
to finish balling hysterically
when just days earlier
my friend had said to me
if i die
i want you to deliver
the flag to my parents.”

it came out of nowhere.
nothing prompted him
telling us this.
there was no rhyme
or reason
to it being entered into
the conversation
but i’m glad it was.

amongst the alcohol
and stupid balloons
the chit-chattering
and the laughter
all that laughter
we needed a moment
of truth.
a moment
of raw
visceral
unapologetic
humanity.

COPYRIGHT BRICE MAIURRO 2013

READ “IN CRAZY”

CHECK OUT MY UPCOMING PROJECT “02.2013″

EARTHBENDING

some people’s hearts
are 1300 pounds of rage

some people’s minds
are antique arcade machines

some people’s guts
are ocean oil spills

and some people’s bodies
are imploding giant casinos

we are not small accidents
we are massive heart attacks
to happiness
and we
are nuclear radiation

we must speak loudly
we must love even louder
we must be unafraid
to shake the ground
to leave cracks in mountains
that will remain safe passage
for every holy virus
we awaken
to walk through
forever

COPYRIGHT BRICE MAIURRO 2013

READ “ON THE HUNT FOR THE HEART THAT BEATS LIKE MINE”

Interesting in submitting to Flashlight City Blues?

MUSIC VS. WAR

war has lost a lot of lives
while trying to save others
music has saved a lot of lives
but lost a few big ones in the process

war rarely is depicted the same on television
whereas the majority of music videos
are just the band playing their music

people sleep with both soldiers and musicians
for what they do
people say goodbye to their lovers
for months on end
when they leave for the sacrifice of either

war is the ultimate violent protest
music seems to be the ultimate non-violent protest

war and music have shared many beds
coins have been taken from the pockets of both
they both have their working class heroes

war tastes of caster oil shrapnel and young blood
music tastes of honey-sweet honesty and broken thresholds

the gun came first
it wasn’t until later that the guitar mocked it

in both war and music
there is a tumor of fidelity
when the cat is away
the mice will play
but in each
there are still men and women
and they usually speak the loudest

there are lots of folks
in both
that have become lost
Syd Barrett and Ernest Hemingway
we never find them
everyone knows that Paul is dead
but no one can find the body

music replaces the bullet hole left by war
war has been known to start with the rattle of a drum
either way
if you hear a rising sound of percussion
be ready

somedays
it feels like it’s easy to get them confused
siamese twins
but i always know
which one is which
when i remember
that one of them got the heart
and the other got the head

COPYRIGHT BRICE MAIURRO 2012

READ “…SHE WALKS INTO MINE”