(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


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

Author: brice maiurro

Denver poet. Author of Stupid Flowers, out now through Punch Drunk Press.

14 thoughts on “02.08”

  1. I really enjoy your words and flow but I feel there needs to be some pauses in this to absorb the potency of words as they should all be considered but as this is it feels too overwhelming to absorb, unless of course that is your intention. I was slightly lost but still eager to read.
    I hope you dont mind my opinion.

    1. No. I’d agree. This came out frantic and late at night and fast paced. There’s kind of a lot going on and I could really do some editing to strengthen it in general.

      1. I’ve noticed that in a lot of your work. Your mind moves quicker than the pen, am I right? Your content is astounding, so lyrical and explorative. Maybe you could benefit from an outside editing process. Have you heard of the famous proposal to writers – ‘Kill Your Darlings’. It might help with your poetry as it is so much story. Though I’d hate to see you cut sentences at all.

        Or you could just ignore this as Ive had three glasses of wine, and its late and Im still writing poetry.

      2. I agree. And I’m glad someone’s drinking wine and writing poetry. I’m drinking coffee and off to work. This poem was purely what the music I was listening to made me feel. I’m not a big time editor. In fact, I rarely edit a poem, not out of any arrogance, just because that’s how I’ve found works for me. I destroy anything I touch with red ink. This piece is far from perfect and I acknowledge that. I’m kind of regretting posting a little bit now, as it was on a whim late last night. If anything I would call this one jazz. The words don’t all match up and it’s mostly about the rhythm and the tones and what I discovered along the way. I have ADD, and I’ve chosen to often times embrace that in my writing. That feel of my mind moving too fast; that’s how I feel at times, but I’m opening up to the idea of killing my darlings. I wanted to post this one raw because I thought it offset the other pieces in the 02.2013 project.

        Also, my roommate noted once that I don’t edit but sometimes it’s like ill have many drafts of the same poem, if that makes sense. Someday I’ll rewrite this poem.

        It’s like martial arts I guess. My poems come at me so fast I feel like I have two choices: try to halt them and get caught in their path or use its momentum against it to throw it to the ground. I usually go with the latter.

  2. Yes I can see the Jazz influences, I use it often to channel my own words and rhythm and can understand how the nature of the music can infiltrate. I like this poem in its haphazard intentions, dont get me wrong, thats what is so charming and endearing about your work, its so fucking raw. In a good way though, a way where there is no pretense and that is a rare art in poetry these days. Even I hide behind tenses, view points, patterns and then the wrong turn of phrase gets edited to the enth gedree. But you have enough balls to put it out there in its true form so massive props to you and all the more reason to follow that gut of yours that says to use the momentum, it hasn’t steered you wrong so far, at all.
    Perhaps ignoring me would have been a more productive way to spend your morning prior to work. It seems Im less clever that I think.
    FYI Fouth glass of wine slowly turning to fifth. Tomorrow morning isn’t looking so good.

      1. I am extraordinarily honoured to be the one of bearable mornings, joining you in theraputic coffee. We’re heading into a Saturday here, only a couple of hours to go til we hit it and I’m tempted to face the beast head on.
        I LOVE the link to that poem, is it truly about wine? it seems more the eternal wish for an appropriate muse, a perfection we create in our own heads. Perhaps it is when we do not find said muse that we discover the pleasure of such things in a wine bottle and exasperate the problem by evolving the idea, that would explain the plethora of poetic drunkards. Funnily enough my most recent poem I posted tonight (or this morning for you) is about a muse. Check it out and let me know what you think.

  3. Wow. This is … just, wow. It is a bit overwhelming, because the words and thoughts come at the reader, smacking us in the face head-on. But, for me, that frantic, frenzied sort of pace added to the experience. It really gave me a sense of that tumbling toward doom that I think we all feel (all too often these days, it seems). The phrases you use are just beautiful. Beyond beautiful, really. It’s like magic, right on the page.

  4. I am astounded by your ability to keep turning out this poetry day after day – no wonder you don’t worry too much about editing. The other thing I find about poetry is that the first fresh rush is always the best. Editing somehow depletes it. After all poetry is from the heart. You are making me ashamed about my lack of writing discipline

    1. I’m always surprised that I find something to write about! I take notes during the day if an idea strikes me and I think that helps a lot. I feel like I’ve been writing the poem in my head all day when I sit down to type it out.

      Thanks for the admiration. You are definitely the top commenter on my blog. 🙂

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