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”

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AMERICAN CHAOS

Artwork by Patrick Beery

Artwork by Patrick Beery

one million murderers crash on the eastern shore of an occupied nation
never forget that handshakes were originally a way of indicating that you were unarmed
i guess that makes our ancestors liars and now we have come so far guns blazing swat teams swatting
riots in the streets of little old ferguson missouri
a black boy is dead and a white man of authority shot him down
we’ve heard this story before
will emmett till ever get some rest?
but we’re far too saturated with top ten
tips for improving your garden and top twenty
celebrities making human mistakes to stop and listen to the six gun
shots to listen to the hum be
neath the radio broadcasts
our heads filled with wifi and blue
tooth and wars on the other side of the world we are too damn frozen
to see that we live in the freezer of a cold war
heads on ice american dreams getting frost bite and still
the television plays on and the men in nice suits sitting behind desks
can talk the talk but without legs they may find it difficult to walk the walk but
still our love is buy one get one free our souls are being sold with free
shipping on the raging amazon and to protect and serve
they were meant to protect and serve but somedays it seems
all they do is threaten and order
and cheerios and campbells soup
skittles and arizona iced tea
hamburgers and hot dogs
right and wrong and right and wrong
and the kangaroos in the courtroom
and the elephants overcrowding the room and
right and wrong and black and
white and 2000 television channels as the news
papers burn on the streets as the true grit
journalists squat on craigslist row
and gonzo is just another muppet
and death before dishonor and
ladies first except
when they have
something to say
and the civil war is a cigarette
that never stopped burning and the two
towers never stopped burning and we’re all
afraid of the flames and the flames
spread like wildfire across
the spine of the rocky
mountains as smoke
billows below in denver
and marriage is being
confused with love
and love is being
confused with happiness
and we are locked up
in this fancy restaurant
with an overdraft fee
and we’re cleaning
someone else’s
dirty dishes
to try and pay
the tab
cleaning dirty
dishes to
try and
pay the tab
we’re cleaning
dirty dishes
just to
try and
pay the
tab

COPYRIGHT BRICE MAIURRO 2014

READ “NO ONE WANTS TO READ YOUR POETRY BRO”

ARTWORK PROVIDED BY PATRICK BEERY. FOLLOW HIM ON FACEBOOK BY CLICKING HERE.

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″

SUNDAY AUGUST 10TH

the sun stalks my window
like a sexual predator
trying to drag me out into
the back of it’s van
but i close the blinds
and shut my eyes
and read the sunday
morning cartoons
on the back of my
eyelids

COPYRIGHT BRICE MAIURRO 2014

READ “IN THE DIM LIGHT OF DENVER I DREAM”

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”

LONELINESS IN DENVER

i don’t know who you are
but i want to kiss you at union station
i want to fall in love with you in denver
i want to see the red lights of the city
reflected in your eyes
i want to discuss philosophy
and whatever you want to discuss
with you over egg cream sodas and pbrs
at leela’s

i want to dance with you
in a back alley of sixteenth street
away from the mild herds of tourism
and the thousand atms
away from the god forsaken walgreen’s
i want to lay with you in skyline park
i want to smoke a joint
down to the roach with you in
the glass elevators of the tabor center
i want to get lost in your words
and lose my wallet somewhere in the city
anywhere in denver
fuck.
if i lose my whole outfit i’ll still
be glad that i met you

i want to complain about
the city construction with you
i want to wait in the drunken
shifting line of the 2 am sixteenth street
taco bell with you
and eat bean burritos
and regret tacos

i want to share a flask with you
on a bus bench with you
with no intention of ever taking
the bus

i want to die in denver with you
i want to anything in denver with you
i want to
anything in anywhere
with you

i want you to stop hiding
behind street signs and in the
back room of city liquor stores
i want to see you

i don’t know what i want
and it’s unfair of me to think
that you would
i don’t even know you yet

shit i’m drunk
shit this poem
union station
you and me
9 am sharp
oh man
let’s make that noon

whatever works for you

yeah
that sounds good

COPYRIGHT BRICE MAIURRO 2014

READ “CITY OF BONES”

As you guys may have noticed, I’m switching over to weekly postings. As much as I love posting daily, it’d be unfair of me to myself and to you guys to pretend that I can keep up with the pace. Thanks for reading.

Love,
Brice

CITY OF BONES

i live
in the city of
bones

the city
where the salt of
the earth
and the great heat
of fire
have met
dancing together in
the middle of
america

i don’t know
when i got here
and i don’t know
when i leave
time is hopelessly
against me
but i do know
that this is the
place that i find myself
when the well dries up
and the other cities
just point and laugh
at me

i live
in the city of
bones

i am the
great pharaoh
of the city of
bones

i am
lonely and delicate
flower
sipping water
from the poison
soil
trying to grow
my way into your
american heaven
in the city
of bones

i am lost
and worn down
and soldier
to nonsense
and the answer
to dry echoes

i am vultures
stalking from up
above
and angels claiming
sanctuary
away from the
city of bones

i am hallelujah
of vast, radiant and solo
and eternal sidewalk
and red rock
and an equal right
to death
and to live
but crawling
knees and elbows

i am
the city of
bones
and it is
me
and the ebola
of silence
and the cancer
of the
wind
but still
when the sun hits me
i beam it right back
at it
and some days are tequila
and some days
are bad tequila
and some days
are too dry
and too hot to leave the house
but here i am
king
of the
city of bones

COPYRIGHT BRICE MAIURRO 2014

READ “DRUNK AT LEELA’S”

DRUNK AT LEELA’S

two girls in leopard print chairs
arguing arguments over pbrs
there’s three guys smoking out front
these couches are older than any of us
the loud anger bang music is soft
beneath the sound of
actual fucking conversation
a plate of bones
tilted ketchup bottle
i can feel denver’s heart pounding
these tables bring together lost souls
for reality meetings
fifteen naked lunches
at 10:30 pm on a tuesday night
michael sells buttons and books
glass pane windows
expose the television of flashlight city
the lights glare as the whiskey roars
and i am happy
at peace
desirous of nothing all at once
listening to nirvana
enter a man in a cloak
enter the song of flashlight city
the invisible doorman
shoos away the nazis
hitler crying in the gutters
his make up running
he just wants a friend
we all just want a friend
leela is mine
she yaps music i’ve never heard before in my ear
some band that’s first album was better
she hugs me warm when the lights of flashlight city are dim
she takes my coat for me
kisses me, a humble peck on my chapped lips
and we dance
we dance like homecoming soldiers make love
like painters paint
like graffiti artists run
and i am tweedle dee tweedle dum couldn’t be happier
running the blazing sun flowers into the arms of a
woman who listens to every word we say

i finish my drink

there is laughter echoing into heaven in this house
i feel justified in this horny asylum of color
where you can come and go as you please
i feel justified
as i lay my innocent head upon leela’s naked breasts
and i can hear her heart beat

a heart that says
“i’m alone in here
but i want to be free
i want to hug strangers
i want to inject life simultaneously into all of my
vains breaching the gates that lead to infinity
in the hyperbolic playground of existence”

that is what leela’s heart says
we match tempos
and set aflame together

i too am a heart
in the hand of denver
rocked to stasis by the world’s axis

leela,
baby,
i want to have your children
fill the photo frames of forever with me
please
at least
a cup of coffee?

COPYRIGHT BRICE MAIURRO 2012

READ “CHICKEN SANDWICH FROM BURGER KING”

CHICKEN SANDWICH FROM BURGER KING

about two months ago
i dreamt that i was eating a chicken sandwich
from burger king
and since that night
i have had increased my intake of chicken
sandwiches from burger king
exponentially

of course
there’s a burger king
on my way home from work
that glowing siren
singing me to shipwreck
right at the tail end of my
ten hour long work
excursions

four days a week
two times a day
i have to drive by that
godless whore of a
burger king
with her majestic
window mural
of a chicken sandwich
shining in the golden light
of halogen heaven

you have to understand
part of me acknowledges that
burger king is a capitalistic
corporate burger-making entity
that rolls obesity down
its assembly lines for insanely
disturbingly low prices
i’ve heard rumors that the
charbroiled taste on their burgers
is less flames dancing on an
all beef patty but more so
a mad scientist emulating the taste
of said smoke
a chemically perfect alternate burger
delivered by a fascist fast food joint
slowly devouring american life
into chunky zombie clones
part of me acknowledges that

but part of me knows that
the chicken sandwich at burger king
is a work of art
worthy of sacrifice to the gods

whoever decided that the masses deserved
to eat their chicken sandwich
on an eight inch long bun
with an insanely correct amount of
mayonnaise
deserves the shiniest fucking gold medal
delivered to their door by aphrodite herself

it is glorious

and now it has snuck its way
into my dreams and i can’t stop thinking
about it and it floats above my head
like a mysterious levitating orb
taunting me as i try to lay me down to
sleep

but you don’t care
you’ve got your own shit
you don’t understand my pain
you don’t understand what i go through
you’ve got your super important problems
and part of me understands and respects that
but don’t you fucking ever claim to know
the pain that i feel
eternally inside of me

this sandwich
this entity
has entered my life
jumped into my soul and it will not let me be
until it eventually kills me
in bloody ecstatic joy
this ebola which is
the chicken sandwich from burger king
with the god damn sesame seeds and all
it speaks to me when the air is silent
it spoons me to sleep each night
this love will kill me

and i know what you’re thinking
this guy is fucking crazy
and what the hell happened to his poetry
but if you were paying attention now you know
my poetry was stolen from me
by this she-devil that is
the chicken sandwich from burger king

COPYRIGHT BRICE MAIURRO 2014

I TRIED TO SAVE YOU FROM THE RIP TIDE

Wild Coast at Belle-Ile by Claude Monet

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

i tried to save you from the rip tide
but you wouldn’t let me
you assured me that you knew how to walk on water
that you knew what you were doing
that she was worth it

i tried to save you from the rip tide
but you were so damn stubborn
you ran naked into the ocean
arms flailing like some kind of idiot
i watched you disappear into the white foam
i watched you pick up the phone and call her

i tried to save you from the rip tide
but i don’t think you believed there was one
you said to me that even if you got lost at sea
you would emerge on a island of oasis
and you and her would finally be happy

i tried to save you from the rip tide
i told you all the fables i could
cautionary tales and ghost stories
i told you of sirens and shipwrecks
but you were so fucking stupid
exactly the way that i was too
exactly the way you wanted to be

i tried to save you from the rip tide
i told you you would be floating there
when out of nowhere something would grab your leg
and you’d looked out towards the shore
but there would be no shore to see
i tried to warn you but you had to find out for yourself
and now here we are
flotsam and jetsam
two idiots lost forever in this rip tide
among the shrapnel of the titanic
and its desperate false love stories

COPYRIGHT BRICE MAIURRO 2014