and letters

and letters i do not have the letters that i wish
to have to letter you i do not know where to
begin i love you in a language that i do not
speak and i am so afraid and desperate and
desperately afraid that i will never have the
letters to build the ladder that i wish to build
to climb into your left lung and sail across the
air of you like waves i do not have the letters
and each day you are further away from me i
do not have the letters all i have is this poem
made only from these letters which i use so
very damned often i just wish to hold your
hand in a flea market and i wish to spend my
last days on this earth wandering aimlessly
to the local fruit stand missing you so very
immensely and it will be a hurt that i have
never felt but i don’t know how i will ever
climb into your left lung to have it because
i do not have the letters and so i write in
circles and predicted patterns like a paint
shaker hoping desperate for a crack in the
lid and when the whole colors of it all
splatter maybe i will see that i did not need
the letters because i had the colors i had the
colors inside of me and if it’s your love then
you will have it and that i like to believe i
like to believe i like to believe because i
close my eyes and you are not so sky distant
you are tangible and somewhere maybe
drowning in letters and desperate for color
and i know i will be your favorite color i
know i will if only i can find the letters or
the colors or the maybes tucked behind
bricks in the strange alleys that we’ve
both passed through in dreams

Stupid Flowers Promo

Saint Queen Dada

she thumps across carpet like a feisty kitten
she moves through rooms like a fairy –
lost in the shrinkwrapped forest of reality
she pops the bubble wrap and dances
like there is a fiesta hiding in her headphones
and everyone is invited

she is green forest burning from skull
red lake on fire in a clearing in the blur
oceans of mastadons rising clinking tusks
crimson rivers swarming like bees
through transparent skin
pulsing like eyes dilated

she manifesto the dizzy dance of time
she rock around the clock
she ornament the christmas tree
she stand on top of the turtle’s back
from a golden throne of feathers and bees
shouting her queenly commands
to a sea of deaf dolphins

she illustrates the spaces between bricks
cuts at the fabric of life with sharp nails
she takes two palms and squeezes life lemons
and makes a modge podge colosseum
of noise and thunderous thunder

~
Stupid Flowers, the first book of poetry by Brice Maiurro coming soon through Punch Drunk Press.

Punch Drunk Press

Hey guys,

I guess I never really announced that I started a publishing company, Punch Drunk Press. Currently, we are not accepting manuscripts but we are accepting a wide variety of media for the online site. Please submit and take a minute to check it out! There’s a lot of great stuff up on the site already.

PUNCH DRUNK PRESS

SUBMISSIONS PAGE

Looking for reviews

Hey folks,

I’m excited to announce that forthcoming is my first book of poetry. I am currently looking for people who have book and poetry review sites or otherwise who would be willing to read my book and review it. Please feel free to share this info however you deem fitting.

Thank you for your support,
Brice

Analysis of a Wheelchair I Found

my apartment is small and has too much stuff in it. i don’t think i’m a packrat, it’s more that i’m a goldfish whose bowl size has changed a lot. i was living in a townhome, then an apartment, then a small house, then a bigger house, and now a very small apartment. so all this nonsense i’ve accumulated, nonsense i’m attached to, has just piled up in here. and maybe the attachment is the problem.

i’ve got this great piece of furniture that i use as an entertainment center. i found it by the side of the road. i used to use it as a sort of alter. put a bunch of candles and gemstones and my tarot cards on it. that was a different time for me. i’m still spiritual but there’s an activeness to it. i think the spirituality for me is born out of flexing the muscles in my soul. going on road trips. quitting a job i hate. putting myself in uncomfortable situations. forcing myself to reckon with unknown parts of me and how they interact with unknown parts of the world. so now that alter is an entertainment center. maybe that’s symbolic, but i don’t think so. i still read the tarot. i do love that.

i’ve also got this metal frame shelving unit. i found that in an alley near my apartment. it was rusting in the rain, but i love that too. it’s very industrial looking and beat up but when i moved to south broadway, i started to pick up this affinity for the grit of the city. i found this dirty beer sign by the trash and i just grabbed that too. in my bathroom there’s this sign for a concert that i just ripped off a pole in my neighborhood. it’s got packing tape surrounding it and it falls off all the time. you get sick of beauty, i think, or at least the normal idea of beauty. i love the shit out of van gogh but i wouldn’t want his prints on my walls. and it’s not the most innovative thing to find the gritty city stuff beautiful either. i’m familiar with heroin chic. i’m also familiar with the idea that a homeless person’s life shouldn’t be your artistic expression. these items don’t come to me in some sort of interior decorator mentality. they scream at me. take me. it’s rare but when they scream at me to be taken i take them.

most everything i own for furniture i found or was given to me. my bed and bed frame were gifts from my former landlord. he lived upstairs and i think he pitied me for the breakup i was going through when i left so he threw me that bed. and also he’s just a genuinely nice person. i’m glad he came into my life. he’s your traditional red-blooded conservative, but i also was around while he sat at his computer for hours researching the judges up for election. i’ve also seen nothing but kindness from him. i also saw him give up alcohol to get the woman he loves back. i’m pretty proud to be the recipient of a bed from him.

on my wall is some drywall that my friend sarah painted a painting on. one night, in the twilight of this round of our friendship, her and my friend ivan came over and big surprise we just drank a little whiskey, listened to laid back music and painted to our hearts’ desire. sarah and i painted, ivan i think read. ivan is a person of integrity like that. so sarah takes this torn up piece of drywall and paints this magical barren frozen tundra of a landscape on it. with these harsh red streaks that look almost digital. and in the foreground, the focus of the painting is this polar bear, and it’s got red on it too. it’s dripping with blood but i’m not so certain that’s the case. she just did this with a piece of drywall. and now she’s off in vancouver with ivan and she just started her first day at a job that she hates and she’s going to quit on day two. she asked me what she should do.

there’s this weird cycle where i used to give shitty impulsive emotional advice, and then i gave empathetic advice based on what i would do, and then i started asking people questions to help them figure out what they wanna do, and now i just don’t think i know anything at all.

i found a wheelchair the other day. i don’t need a wheelchair, but i couldn’t stand to see a wheelchair, an old school wheelchair covered in sharpie graffiti, by a dumpster. i couldn’t let it go. i don’t need a wheelchair but this thought lingered over my head that if i didn’t take it, it’d be gone. so now it’s in my living room. there’s three chairs in my entire house. the armchair i’m sitting in, the wooden chair at my desk and this wheelchair. it’s empty but it feels like it’s here with me in person. like we’re two old men sitting by the fire shooting the shit.

i don’t think i’m going to keep it, but i’m not going to throw it away. this isn’t a moral story of one man’s trash is another man’s treasure. and some things are just trash. and these things i own i don’t know that i think of them as treasure. i think of them maybe as friends looking for my advice.

Lenny Chernila, from what i heard secondhand, would take objects from someone’s house and put them in someone else’s house. like this belongs here now. some would say that’s weird, or rude. but you don’t own these things, not really. and if they’ve come to you, it’s only fair to know that at some point they’ll leave you.

i don’t know how this wheelchair is going to leave me. i picture a scenario where maybe danger will happen, god forbid, and someone will be incapable of walking. maybe a stroke, maybe a broken leg. and i, walking by, will say, wait here, i have a wheelchair. i’ll run gallantly down to my apartment and grab the wheelchair. that’s too heroic though. this wheelchair doesn’t have a hero complex. but it’s not my chair either. and me, i’m just hear to give it advice, but the older i get, the more i see how unqualified i am in fact to give advice. maybe i should just listen to the wheelchair on this one.

Support me on Patreon.

Kansas City

somewhere in kansas city someone might be saying these words

my friend sarah is locked up in alberta
the bars are birch trees
they surround her
and day after day she draws them
these spines that spring from the earth
she draws them
as if maybe she can work her way through them

she draws her lover beside her
and she draws us again in denver
or together in the birch trees
she draws them as if she can conjur something
or someone
to another place

lost in conifer
i walked through an endless field of evergreens
and miles deep into my head
playing a long tricky game of object impermanence
i stumbled onto this great field of birches

holy
and unbroken
i stepped into them
and i was not there
i was with sarah and her ivan in alberta

sarah asks me
do you believe in time travel?

somewhere in kansas city someone might be saying these words
and there is a currency too valuable
to knowing that my breath has traveled as far east as it is west
into the mouth
of a stranger
that i met in another life

Support me on Patreon.

THERE IS SOMETHING SAD ABOUT TODAY AND THAT IS OKAY

there is something sad about today and that is okay
the sun decided to sleep in
the cars they don’t move quickly down their thick lines
the news radio is solemn and uninteresting
in the shower i found myself staring at the drain for way too long
catching up on silly thoughts in my mixtape head
and that is okay
this is all okay

the dynamic of human emotion is dynamic
the hedonists maybe will be filled with disappointment on this one
but not every day is a party
maybe today was the day i was designed to count the sidewalk blocks
as i walked by hundreds of displaced human beings attempting to sleep in the entry ways of local business shops

it is a mistake to think your existence is one of exuberant joy
your existence is rocket ship, yes, probably
but so many tiny broken hands pieced together your engine
so many people stood around just to watch you launch

it only makes sense if you acknowledge the collective experience of us all
maybe god is the devil and humanity has to be its own god
we still haven’t figure out how to combat natural disasters
we still haven’t figured out the most efficient and effective methods of loving one another

so if there is something sad about today then that is okay
this dream is far too valuable to be perfectly utopian
let’s just try to keep our rocket ships directed toward whatever it is above us now
that we find so valuable

COPYRIGHT BRICE MAIURRO 2016

FLC Blues listed as top 25 poetry blogs!

Poetry Blogs

I woke up this morning to see Flashlight City Blues had been listed as one of the top 25 poetry blogs on the internet by Feedspot Blog Reader.

The qualifications were:

  • Google reputation and Google search ranking.
  • Influence and popularity on Facebook, Twitter and other social media sites.
  • Quality and consistency of posts.
  • Feedspot’s editorial team and expert review.

You can check out the article and the other winners here.

Thank you, Feedspot, for the recognition!

 

GEOFFREY DONAHUE

geoffrey donahue’s day started as normal. he went to the printer where he scanned his badge and printed the copies he needed of a document to help facilitate his morning meeting. geoffrey made a mistake though. where he only needed 10 copies he accidentally printed 100. he had hit the 0 button excessively in error. but in that moment of watching the 100 copies of the document to help facilitate his morning meeting, geoffrey felt a great wave of soothing energy come over him. he became entranced, watching as paper after paper came shuffling down the print tray. it was mesmerizing. geoffrey then thought nothing. geoffrey then felt nothing. when the 100 sheets of paper finished printing, he printed another 100, like it was nothing. like the strings of the universe were in full command of his actions. like geoffrey donahue was nothing more than a vessel for the will of the universe. geoffrey donahue, who was now running late for facilitating his morning meeting. geoffrey donahue, know around the office for his dad jokes and being a good listener when someone was having a bad day. he printed another 100 copies. geoffrey made a mistake though. where he only meant to print a third set of 100 copies he accidentally printed 1000. he had hit the 0 button excessively in error. around 73 copies into this batch of 1000 copies, the printer ran out of paper, and once again the universe commanded. some invisible ominous puppeteer pulled strings at geoffrey to gather paper from the nearby filing cabinet and fill the filing cabinet with papers. geoffrey was not aware of any of this. geoffrey donahue was elsewhere. geoffrey donahue was thinking about his past. geoffrey donahue at last was taking the time to work his way through the daunting moments that led up to and followed his divorce from his once wife, mrs. elizah donahue, who was now elizah brown. a coworker or two walked by, unaware the exact details of what geoffrey was doing. they assumed whatever it was was important, and kept walking. geoffrey continued to retrace the steps of his failed marriage as the 8 1/2 by 11 papers continued to travel magically from the guts of the printer and onto the printer tray. until finally, the geoffrey had no more thoughts to think about his divorce, or his life in general for that matter. it was then that geoffrey donahue’s legs kicked slowly out from beneath him until he was levitating about 2 feet off the ground. light as a feather and still as a board. slowly, geoffrey donahue began to float upward and through the ceiling. he disappeared like jesus on easter sunday but no one saw this. they were very busy with their monday workload, mostly catching up on emails and scheduling down meetings for the current work week. geoffrey had ascended to another plane. the papers continued to print en masse from the printer. later that day, the management staff pulled geoffrey’s direct reports to inform them that geoffrey donahue was no longer with the company.

COPYRIGHT BRICE MAIURRO 2016

TODAY I DREW A ROBOT

today i drew a robot

today i went outside in the rain and i laid flat on the ground in the middle of the street
the rain drops fell down and crashed like cymbals on my eyes i did not blink

today i kissed strangers who walked by the other way on the same sidewalk with just my eyes no lips

today i enveloped the entire energy of the moon through a straw with one holy deep sip inward

today i spoke to someone i wouldn’t have on a day that was not today it was so everything to know that what i was doing was what i was not before

today i swooned for life and his dreamy blue eyes

today i penciled in an appointment for myself and that looked like fifty cent coffee and vegan tacos and a tallboy and then the aforementioned robot i drew

today i was less cruel

less cruel to other humans and what i found to be true in my truth is with this i was less cruel to myself

today i said no to someone i love because i love them

today i was so far from perfect that i almost circled back it was as if i was walking around the world with giant legs the opposite way of the sun and i caught it

almost

today i drew a robot
and i emphasized the imperfect lines
i emphasized the black circles around his eyes
and in his robot belly i drew a television set
and on the television set was just an image of the robot
and i think that maybe it was a self portrait

and maybe i am an artist but we all are

today i stepped down from the crucifix i nailed myself up to and i realized i don’t want to be jesus infamous christ i just want to draw robots and stare up at the rain that stares down at me but just keeps moving

gravity is just lateral motion
into the heart
of the earth
where i long
to be

COPYRIGHT – BRICE MAIURRO – 2016