BRAIN IN A JAR

tonight feels like
one of those nights
where it feels like
the whole world
was invited to a party
some grandiloquent party
with a giant chandelier
and blurry visions
skirts lifted up
high into the sky
beneath the golden sun
of nighttime
a black and white affair
black tie, red dress
toss your woman up into the air
as the band plays on
their notes drifting
through cigar smoke
over the alcoholic ground
and the universe collectively cheers
to itself
but i
am sitting here
severely alone
in a room with no windows
banging at the stupid, stupid
typewriter

i am doctor manhattan on mars
i am thirty-seven days of peril
lost among the thick, thick smoke
of the american earth
i am the man
who drowned
in a sinkhole
that came before the anticlimax
of the writhing desperate night
and swallowed him into the ground
i am without reason
i am outside of myself

i am the sound
when you scream
on top of a mountain
and there is no echo

breathless air
flowers for the dead

has the world lost me?
have i lost the world?
did we ever have each other
or were we just fuck buddies?

now
the phone don’t ring
and i am left to be
a brain
in a jar
in the middle
of nowhere

COPYRIGHT BRICE MAIURRO 2013

READ “DINOSAURS”

DINOSAURS

you know how they say that a picture is worth a thousand words? what happens when you rip a picture in half? is each half worth 500 words or do they each become worth a thousand? does it lose all value? a picture may be worth a thousand words but there is an aboriginal belief that a picture takes away a piece of your soul, so is a piece of your soul worth a thousand words? they say the soul is twenty one grams because when the average person dies they find that the body weighs that much less. so assuming that each gram constitute a piece of your soul, that means your soul is worth twenty one thousand words. the average novel is about sixty some odd thousand words. so if you get three people together, you have a novel. sounds about right. because when two people talk to each other, you have a conflict, but when three people talk, you’ve got something bigger to consider. that’s three short stories clashing together. that’s sixty-three thousand words. that’s sixty three pictures. when you times that by two billion, you get the world, and what you end up with is a big big big big mess, but certain souls weigh more than twenty-one grams. i believe that. some people feed their souls. as hemingway said, some people burn the fat off their souls. but they might replace that with muscle. there’s not much here. if anything i’m saying i want my soul to be a heavy one. i want my footprints to be deep. i want to scratch my name into the styrofoam to-go box and proclaim BRICE. B. R. I. C. E. Until time washes that away and all that is left is a fossil of my footprints in the earth, and they will blame it on the dinosaurs.

COPYRIGHT BRICE MAIURRO 2013

READ “ESCAPE FROM THE FILM NOIR CITY”

ESCAPE FROM THE FILM NOIR CITY

you and me, sugar
living in a black and white world
where the brick walls
of back alleys
are continuous
and lead to a pair
of haunted headlights
in the city
this city
our city
of angels
and demons

in the thick dark
a small glint
of cigarette ember
a hat tipped over a face
rain water on the slick asphalt
a dead body
in the truck
of our car

ladies
pouring buckets of water
out of windows
cops drive by slowly
we kiss like
mad mad madness
we take the body
to the river
as the radio transmitter
plays distorted
the reports rolling in

you crashed your car
into my world, sugar
you slinked on over
in a blood red dress
and you wore your lipstick
thick
thick as thieves
you and me
until they catch us
in the act

let’s leave for vegas
try to make it to the mirage
by sunlight
let’s leave behind the grit
and the shit
of this here town
that we once called home

the ghosts can’t keep up
ain’t no way they’ll keep up
we can run away
i’m not worried, sugar
look into my eyes
i’m not worried, sugar
i’m not worried

COPYRIGHT BRICE MAIURRO 2013

READ “COUNTER CULTURE SHOCK”

COUNTER CULTURE SHOCK

if you are strange and weird,
come join us.

we think what makes you strange and weird
is what makes you beautiful.

unless your strangeness and weirdness
isn’t like our strangeness and weirdness.

then we couldn’t be bothered.

COPYRIGHT BRICE MAIURRO

READ “SUBMIT ALL QUESTIONS IN WRITING PLEASE”

SUBMIT ALL QUESTIONS IN WRITING PLEASE

does God watch the jersey shore?

does God eat cupcakes?

is he aware of red velvet cupcakes?

does God take month-long naps?

does God still edit this magazine
or does he delegate the task
to his employee angels?
or to his empirical task force?
or to tyrannical leaders
who have bribed him with organ songs?

does God write in pencil or pen?

does God know what Google
is going to do next?

does God have issues
with his DVR recordings?

does God chase tail?

does God wear makeup?

does God celebrate cinco de mayo?

does God get suckered into
magazine subscriptions too
because some kid knocks on his door
and says he is just trying to make
his way through college?

does God care who is the president
of the united states of america?

does God tuck Barack Obama
into bed at night?

does God think George Bush
was a terrible president
but still
would be kinda fun to have
a beer with?

does God think yoko
broke up the beatles?

does God enjoy dubstep?

does God regret disco?

does God play chess
against himself?

does God put tornados
in tornado alley
to keep up its reputation?

does God get soy milk
with his iced chai lattes?

does God support the man
who wants to marry his dog?

does God wish that everyone
would just call him “Steve”?

does God want to strangle me
for assuming he is a man?

does God want to strangle me
for assuming he has a gender?

does God ever speak to me
thru siri?

does God ever work through sunday?

does God understand bjork’s music?

does God get bored
watching quirky performances
of “waiting for godeau”?

does God wish that
some people would talk louder?

does he have to lean in
to hear
when some people speak to him?

does God
get annoyed when someone asks a question
that he already answered?

does God
have any relevant insights
on gun control?

does God think about
epistomology?
afrofuturism?
otolaryngology?

does God want the Packers
to beat the New York Giants
as much as i do?

does God
think america is crazy?
think japan is crazy?

does God understand
the concept of crazy?

does God ever just stick out
his
sorry
her
its finger
and just ploop
kill someone?

does God brush his teeth
with colgate or crest
or sensodyne?

does God prefer
offbrand cereal too?

does God share my taste
in music?

does God support
the left or the right?
the up or the down?
the slantways or sideways
or beltways or airways
or highways or does God
really wish that
twenty-four-year old poets
would mind their own damn business
and stop asking questions?

does God
mind helping me to stop focusing
on america so much?

does God
ever just want to invent
some new awesome storm type?

does God
have the high score
on the pinball games in heaven?

does God
ever consider
giving us all yellow skin
like the simpson?

does God have the cure for cancer
in a jar under his sink?

does God write in pencil
or in pen?

COPYRIGHT BRICE MAIURRO 2013

READ “AMBIEN”

AMBIEN

i don’t know where to begin
i’ve got this heaving weight on my chest
this endless weight
that just keeps punching at me
spitting in my face while i’m crying
i keep thinking my adrenaline will kick in
and just shove itself off of me
but here i am
la dee fucking da
briefcase in my left hand
right hand shaking suicide’s
i will never do it
i will never gun-to-mouth it
i don’t want my skull broken
i don’t want anything
(that’s kind of true…
…and kind of a big ass lie.)

oh fuck
i’m falling asleep
let it happen
these rocks will roll
good night

COPYRIGHT BRICE MAIURRO 2013

READ “A REQUEST TO DELETE YOUR HISTORY”

A REQUEST TO DELETE YOUR HISTORY

To Whom It May Concern:

This
is a request to delete your
history.

You have built around you
a beautiful
expansive library
filled with detailed heartbeats
and cultural drums
that have echoed through
the jungles of
time

but

they are obtrusive
to the reality
that we have created
for ourselves.

We do not want to
ostracise you
from our society;
we simply want you
to be
just like us

to believe in the god
that we have sculpted
to taste
to eat
to digest
the paintings
from our
very personal
cave walls.

Because
what are memories truly?

Memories
are just lies.
A triple-filtered
perspective
of what actually happened
where good men
grow wings
and bad men
grow horns.

We crucify
the innocent.

We sacrifice
the virgin.

And we ask you
to take
what you have made pure
and present it to us
as a gift
on our
holy
holy
holy
alter.

We cannot believe
what you believe.

We cannot accept
what you accept.

Our table is full
and we are unwilling
to add the chairs
for your kings and queens
but we do ask
that you join us
for a feast
to celebrate
our holidays
and maybe
if you’d be so kind
help us with the dishes
afterwards.

This
is a request
to delete your history
to throw the pages
of your books
into the fire of yours.

And someone asked
“why?
let’s all just build
one giant tower
to climb
into the chest of
god
or what you will call
her or him,”

Someone wrote these
words
but they too
were thrown into the fire
of ignorance.

COPYRIGHT BRICE MAIURRO 2013

READ “AN EMPTY ORCHESTRA”

All Apologies

Hey guys,

I’ve been super busy lately. Not a lot of new poems, I’m sorry. I’ve literally exhausted everything I’ve ever written, and whenever I post on the site, it’s new stuff. I am going to just hit you all with a Mack truck of poems tonight. I don’t have anything to do tomorrow, so the night is open to see how many poems I can whip out. If you all care to join me, I’ll be starting up about 10 PM Denver, Colorado time (It’s 2 PM here right now.) Hope you can all stop on by and see what I can do.

Love, Brice

AN EMPTY ORCHESTRA.

i was put on this earth to bang my head endlessly against the keyboard
to splatter pollack jizz on white white white white paper and to listen
to jazz alone in rooms with no windows and ageless space and dull air
air that’s been processed far too many times in and out of my lungs
exhausted carbon dioxide monoxide dihydrogen oxide and blood
these walls they bump like raised veins through skin and my lonely om
is the tone that brings them so close to climax in this heroin binge
this lapdance to the past half of my life as i approach sigh my
quarter life crisis

i was put on this earth to bang my head endlessly against the keyboard
and walk down endless sidewalk approaching dawns and dusks that want
absolutely freaking nothing to do with me the sun is far too busy
trying to keep up with his endless addendum to wonder about me
don’t you worry about me, darling, i’m just fine swimming in the tempest
in my teacup, the sound of howling wolves echoes through porcelain skulls
turned upside down and as i lay in this mug that says “life’s a bitch” on it
i stare up at the night stars of moab and realize that we are just as close
as we are far from this timeless waltz, timeless waltz, timeless waltz
this masquerade of atoms in the eve, bowing and curtsying in the garden of eden
we keep digging for the garden in the middle east with guns like shovels
and diplomacy like pails but our king’s cup runneth over, our holy grail
spilleth in rivers of blood as baby moses is swept away into the dead sea
when really we should turn our eyes to the skies and see that peace is floating

it is orbital, it is all around us, the intentional space between the skydiamonds
that do not compare how bright they shine they just be and burn the midnight oil
of themselves and we trek to work to make the coffee to fax the paper to
shake the hands to kiss the ass to assist the customer to spin in chairs and
try to mimick the gravity of being shot into space but we just wear our monkey
suits to work and trek to giant metal death machines through energy drive thrus
and past last call and we cheers our glasses to fiscal responsibility while the
karaoke machine just cries in the corner. an electric death. an empty orchestra.

COPYRIGHT BRICE MAIURRO 2013

READ “SINATRA ON THE MOON”