“A SUMMER CIGAR” BY NICI E. BROWN

Recently, I ran into this poem and thought it was fantastic. I know it’s the middle of winter, but I think maybe that is the best time for a summer cigar.

A Summer Cigar

Glass splits burgundy into facets
through the crystal ball of a wine glass
that has no power to tell the future,
only quiet it down to a numbness.
I have to laugh at the idea
of a ten dollar bottle of wine paired
with a ten dollar cigar.
It takes four matches to light -
What hidden pleasures
will the thick, spicy smoke enhance
in my cheap Malbec?I hear the neighbors cursing at each other,
taking the stress of back-to-back retail jobs
and a janitorial position during graveyards
out on the family they work for,
the bus hydraulics hissing from Meridian,
an immigrant grandmother laughing as she ticks
off hopscotch numbers with her first-generation
grand-daughter in between planting
her soon-to-be blooming annuals in the neat
boxes of her tiny Garden of Eden
in poor East Boston, a pristine space, the only thing
still sandwiched between calamity and the sea.

Smoke curls from my lips
to cast about into the breeze.
I have to keep pace with the cigar
and carefully note the wind’s strength.
If I smoke too little
the flame will go out.
Sometimes I think we could break with the intensity
that’s in the beauty of a single moment in our own skins
but the taste is fleeting,
quick to be scattered away.

Life only deals out
happiness fractured into fragments
here and there, from time to time.
For some reason, I always reach
for the same happiness recipe
though I never have the same ingredients.
You’ve got to learn to cook what’s in your kitchen.

It’s been a long winter, so
get drunk on summer, and spin
what love you can from the warm air.

When the cigar burns down,
the closer [it] gets to my lips, the
sparser my breaths become, or
it’ll burn too hot.

READ MORE POEMS BY NICI E. BROWN

READ “A GIRL NAMED AMERICA” BY ME, BRICE MAIURRO

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to burn the daylight and piss on its ashes
chasing shadows at night into sure madness and love the idea of falling in love with this dark woman who could not possibly love me back

she is everywhere all at once, the night, she refills my wine glass and rubs my shoulders
she lurks about the house in high heels and a little black dress that is by far the best little black dress there is
she howls, strips down to her skin and her skeleton bangs through the walls of her insanity

and all i want, here in the cold warmth of her soft skin, is to let loose the stars that fall from her forehead like beads of sweat
she never wants to cuddle, has no time, we burn together, we burn like radioactive delusion
we burn like buildings, we burn like cities buried beneath your nice happy boring life
god shakes our little grasshopper in a jar and from the pressure she explodes; explodes like a volcano bursting across the universe like a million little rampant children of fireworks and debris

she holds my hand, and not the other way around, she asks me to dance with her hips and we kiss like we’re hiding down back alleys from the cops of morning
we bang like wine glasses filled to the brim with sensational orgasm and god, does she always light my cigarette for me

i spin her around my glass and envelope her as she envelopes me as i envelope her as she envelopes me from the inside out and the outside in and we’re twisting and turning and burning writhing deciding we’re waiting for morning to come to destroy our yearning
to burn the daylight and piss on its ashes

COPYRIGHT BRICE MAIURRO 2012

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WHY YOU SHOULD READ MY BLOG

hi. my name is brice maiurro. and i am here to tell you why you should follow my blog.

i will begin my something-part argument by saying that i may or may not be a little inebriated, thus making me easy to relate to. whether or not you are a little inebriated right now, or care to lie to yourself on said matter, i think you’ll find we have a lot in common. other things we may have in common: i love Love, some people, and music. my favorite kind of music is… all of them. if you don’t like music, you need not apply, unless you still feel a strong desire to do so. i write poetry. for those of you out there who went to high school, common to what’s been crammed up your mental asshole, poetry is not a bunch of pretentious white british assholes commenting on the existential nature of butterflies and the consequential consequences that may thus incur from the artificial conscientious beauty we craft of nature in our bloody mindholes. poetry is about honesty. it’s about being willing to admit that you’ve had a half a bottle of wine and are sitting in a shit t-shirt in a basement apartment in an unimportant city in littleton sweating balls as you write this rant that you may not have had the tenacity to write while you are sober.

which brings me to my next point. did i mention i am devilishly handsome? i won’t post a picture, but just imagine, my hair that falls as gracefully as doctor who’s and my six pack abs and my pearl white smile. that’s me. sorta kinda. which brings me to my next point. i am here to break down the walls of anonymity. i want to crash into the glass walls of museums and ride the taxidermy bears into the dawn of ecstasy. join me. follow my blog. hear my rambles. see my dearest friend of a doodle, Rant the Ant, and the situations I force upon him, whether he likes it or not, because isn’t that exactly how we should be living our lives?