02.13

0213

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

(beck #1.)

sitting in the attic of the basement of heaven
quarter past half past ten til eleven
looking for a reason in the garbage disposal
divorce papers for the marriage proposal

camera flash jump back ice cream truck
standing in line with the sitting ducks
earning my wages a day at a time now
squares trying to figure out where is the line now

i work tomorrow morning so i’m gonna sleep in
if heaven has a problem with me, let me sin
tell me what to do from nine to five
i’m certain when i’m dead i’ll feel less alive

flipping channels through the ocean t.v. in the water
the birds fly south but the weather gets hotter
met a man from texas who was chronically single
looking for a good place to try and mingle

desperate little bars and repetitious lovers
find more than flashlights underneath the covers
dedicate my will to the future leaders
bury me in armor and my favorite sneakers

COPYRIGHT BRICE MAIURRO 2013

READ 02.14, THE NEXT ENTRY IN THE 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

02.10

0210

(brilliant revelation, you bloody moron…)

i could really use a shoulder to rest my head upon for this long drive home
through the american night and into that most certain day that comes rising up over the mountains like a herd of buffalo

i could most certainly use a drink
and a Love to share it with at some foreign train station bar where the wood floors rattle when our train leaves station without us

i could really go for a glass of cold whiskey
bourbon like marmalade with frosty sweat on the glass and two ice cubes floating around in it like two Lovers freezing in the ocean

i could take a nap and just find myself sleeping for days
wake up with a long long beard but not before dreaming of cities built from the sky down and a woman with eyes like blurry carnival lights

yeah

a woman with a voice like old raspy jazz songs and hands that rock your hands to sleep
a woman who dance with you alone in kitchens in the middle of the timeless night to the sound of your shaking breaths
a woman who smiles like the sun rises from within her
a woman who will wake you up from a deep sleep when you work early the next morning because she wants to make love
she is dying, rampaging heart beat within her ancient rib cage to love you and to have you love her back

yeah
forget the whiskey
i could really use a woman like that

COPYRIGHT BRICE MAIURRO 2013

READ 02.11, DAY 11 OF THE 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

CHESS

it’s denver in january cold

at the bus stop
there’s a man
in work boots
with a lunch pail
and he looks cold too
his lips pursed
hands in pockets

and there’s a woman
with her two daughters
sitting on the
cold metal
bench
reading them a
story

and there’s a kid
with a baltimore ravens
hat
on backwards
who is pacing
like he’s waiting
for the super bowl
next sunday

there is gum
all over the ground
gum and cigarette
butts

now here comes the blind man
cane in hand
he can’t see me
as i sit here
still
and frozen
does he know
i’m here?

i am some weird caricature
to all of them
lost in my headphones
and underneath my hood
and thom yorke
is going crazy
in my ears
singing my iron lung
they have no idea
he’s whispering
and screaming at me
in the corner
of an asylum
on the other side
of the headphones
he’s desperately singing
with desperation
about desperation
he’s moving me
but he’s not here

there are five other hearts
at this bus stop
waiting to share
the same submarine vessel
to take us to
somewhere else

and it’s cold but not too cold to talk

and i’m off in the asylum
with thom yorke
and i’m twentysomething
in a hoodie
lost in headphones
and as soon as we violently
tug the pull cord
on the bus
and exit
professionally
we will be off to live
our seperate lives together

thom yorke is screaming at me
from some supermarket in england
with his wife
but we are all silent
faceless chess pieces
faced with the same war
but stuck
within our black
and white
spaces

COPYRIGHT BRICE MAIURRO 2013

READ “BLOOD ON THE AMERICAN HIGHWAY”

02.2013

02.2013

Good Morning.

I wanted to take a minute to let you all know about a project I am going to be starting up on Februrary 1st. It’s called “02.2013” and the concept is fairly simple: I am going to chronicle my experiences daily through the month of February here on the blog.

Other than that, I don’t know what will come of it. I’d say the biggest difference between this project and my normal entries is there should be a more cohesive element to the 28 poems I intend to write.

I hope you all will check in daily with me, and join me through this journey. Should be a lot of fun.

Love,
Brice

1994 SEATTLE LOVE SONG

seattle

minor chords amongst the dust
i’m the only one who comes to your show
the ground is littered
with empty bottles of cough syrup
i stand among the wreckage
and i watch you destroy yourself
i can’t look away
from the mirror you hold to me

i can’t escape the morphine sea storm in your eyes
envy’s eyes are as green as yours
envy’s eyes are as green as yours
you’ve got me wrapped up in your small pox blanket

you’re a newspaper fire burning in a rusty trash can
a shopping cart in hashbury at night
you’re not as glorious as i’ve made you out to be

i’m a gas fire and you’re the water
i’m a gas fire and you’re the water

i’ll burn like big giant factories
i will give you a sunset
the color of chemicals

minor chords amongst the dust

you left your phone in the car
along with our 1994 seattle love song
our song of retribution in a wasteland
we are just getting lost in different drugs

what happens when glass slippers slide
on black ice

we are the sound
of an i.v.
drip

i swear you smell
like kurt cobain

you taste like
sonic youth

someone popped
every single one
of the balloons
at our birthday party

someone left the car on in the garage

envy’s eyes are as green as yours
i can’t escape your morphine sea storm

COPYRIGHT BRICE MAIURRO 2013

READ “TOO FAR DEEP”

THE HOUSE OF GOD

someone’s in the kitchen playing the guitar
lovers in the bedroom reading dead playwrights
someone’s in the shower marinating musicals
someone’s in the basement carving up god’s face
angels in the mirror slipping into dresses
someone’s in the garden impregnating the soil
someone’s in the laundry room painting up a portrait
demons in the cellar pending on funeral flowers
someone’s in the billiards room punching holes in walls
someone’s in the closet interviewing skeletons
someone’s in the fitness room chiseling skin
pergatorians in the elevator shaft making urgent love
someone’s in the dance hall staring into eyes
someone’s in the sitting room spitting stand-up
someone’s in the coat room closing their curtain eyes
someone’s in the skull commanding the hands
this is the house of what is, not what is not
this is the house of god.

COPYRIGHT BRICE MAIURRO 2013

READ “WORD SALAD”

NATIONAL ANTHEM OF ANYWHERE

beautiful land!
you are the only
beautiful land for me
this is where i live

our bright history
our human roots
our sense of pride
for our sense of pride
it is for you i make
some sacrifice

when things get
somehow difficult
you continue on

we believe in these values here

you are where i live
so for you, i love you more
i will die
for the perspective of life
that you
have thrust upon me!

the only one
i’ve ever known

COPYRIGHT BRICE MAIURRO 2013

READ “DEATH RATTLE”

BEAUTIFUL HOUR

sometimes it’s just too much to ever handle
there’s too many woman with eyes like intelligent design
there’s a sun that has burned for all of us
and will always continue to burn for all of us
and when we don’t have that, we have the moon
we have the moon and the stars and the black silk sky
and the oceans that reflect the light so we’re captured
we’re captured between the two and we don’t have a choice
but to see ourselves as one common entity
we are all, all of us, every single one of us
part of the same vehicle of life, don’t flatter yourself
you are not something special
you are amongst a billion special things
we need to seek this out in one another, in everyone
we need to remember the way
that we help to push the grass out of the ground
we must remember the way that a heart can succumb
to a bass line, i’m not even joking
your heart can literally adjust to the music it hears
and it definitely can adjust to those around you
so i beg of you to answer, why can’t our eyes see
why can’t we appreciate the million instruments
that surround us, and the glorious grandiose
extraterrestial superhuman cataclysmic kaleidoscopic
kandinskily colorful grandiloquent magnum opus of existence?

you don’t know
none of us know
we make up questions
and we find answers
but we can feel each other’s presence
we know when someone is looking at us
we can feel love
never forget that one
we can feel love
sometimes it’s easy to get separated from that
but it’s there
i assure you
right now
i have enough for all of you
and i’m trying to pass it on
i can’t hold onto it
i’ll explode
we’d all explode
be unafraid to love those around you
be unafraid of what is different
because the things that are the same
are boring, they’re boring
and you don’t want to go to the same grocery store
at the same time
to see the same boring faces
and buy the same foods
and check out with the same cashier
every day of your short short short short short life
life is not very long
bad days drag out tugging at our legs
to appreciate the good ones

open your mind
open your eyes
open your arms
open your rib cage
and let that god damn drum beat
let it beat
let it beat like it has never beat before
bleed on the canvas of life
do not be afraid
of being too happy
there is no such thing
there are no limits
that’s the god damn point
you will not put a period on the end of a sentence
you are a conjunction
you are the connective tissue of everything
we need you
i need you
even if i don’t know it
reassess the hatred in your life
what aren’t you doing?
what should you be doing?
who should you be calling?
what do you have to say to who?
i guarantee you
i fucking guarantee you they will be glad to hear it
even if it’s bad news
and there is bad news
just open
regret there not being more hours in the day
and that is all
i want you to imagine yourself smiling
and now i want you to smile
can you do that for me?

can you do that for me?

COPYRIGHT BRICE MAIURRO 2013

READ “BUKOWSKI #2”

Interesting in submitting to Flashlight City Blues?

CRICKETS

it looks like it’s just me and the crickets tonight
the crowds poured in like flash floods
they shook, they rampaged, they rumbled the house
they spilt their drinks all over the tables
they danced on the wet tables
they kissed in my closets
they unhinged my doors and they set my clothes on fire
they blew out my speakers with their digital tribal anthems
they cursed the name of daylight
their hands reached out towards the night sky
the room filled with smoke
the intercourse of chattering, the music of heart
they filled the crevices and corners of my life
the kissing gourami wallflower star-crossed lovers
who wake up demons with bad breath and hangovers
they clawed at the walls, they clawed the ceilings
they hung their reservations from the ceiling fan
and watch as it shredded them to dust
like leftover confetti on the mardis gras ground
i slipped into my bed, slipped into my mind
as the world turns turbulent around me
as the clocks lost track of time
and the freezer began to fill with pairs of keys
the morning came like snow on january first
and the floor was littered with bodies in coma
slowly they dwindled, they faded, they disappeared
out into the long line of cars
out into the systematic revolution of deadlines
and bus schedules and inevitable responsibility
now you listen to me and what i have to say
until you too wander off out into delusional reality
and then, as it always end up,
it’s just me and the crickets tonight

COPYRIGHT BRICE MAIURRO 2013

READ “WINDSTORM (A DREAM)”

Interesting in submitting to Flashlight City Blues?

FLASHLIGHT CITY BLUES: FAVORITE POSTS OF 2012

Rant Unicycle

#1: TIPS FOR WRITING BETTER GOD DAMN POETRY PART 1: I’m not a big fan of how to guides, especially how to guides on writing, but I really enjoyed writing this. I decided to shoot from the hip. Say what I truly feel. Focus less on the structure of poetry and more on the what keeps me going.

#2: THE OBNOXIOUS SOUND OF MUSIC UPSTAIRS: Most of my pieces I write and five minutes later, I post them to my blog. The fact that this is something I wrote a couple years ago and still held up on my blog made me extremely happy. I don’t write short stories or prose very often, but I was happy to find myself writing this piece, that not only helped me rationalize alot of things from my past, but also better understand love.

#3: MTV: When I sat down to write this, I thought it was gonna be shit. I thought it was gonna be pure angst and cheesy and trying too hard to be trendy, but in the end, I don’t feel that it’s any of those things. I didn’t realize until the comments started coming in that this piece wasn’t just about MTV. It was about the things we lose along the way, sometimes include our whole selves.

#4: AN AMERICAN PORTRAIT: A personal favorite. My trip to California really inspired this one in me. I wanted to speak of this iconic idea of America that we’ve created in our memories and our history, and maybe point us to the fact that it’s time to redefine what it means to be an American.

#5: I AM AN APARTMENT BUILDING: One of those ones where you know the title, and the rest just kind of comes from there. I feel like this piece really helped me to rationalize a lot of aspects of who I am in so many ways. My roommate and I talk about how I don’t really edit, but what I seem to do is rewrite the same poems in different ways until I get what I’m after. This one seems to be a later, but I don’t think necessarily better version of SOMETIMES I FEEL LIKE THERE’S A COWBOY ARGUING WITH A BUDDHIST MONK.

 

More than anything, what I’d like to say is thank you. Thank you to anyone and everyone who stops by and reads my blog. Poetry is not something that is easily made a career. No one gets into poetry for the money. What I’m in it from is to share something I felt with the growing circle of people around me. I want to inspire people to be better. I want to challenge people to rethink who they are. I want to make a personal connection with someone on the other side of the world as me, and I have been lucky enough to get to connect to so many fantastic people, all with incredible stories and nothing but kindness to give back to me. You’re not a poet until someone reads your poem. I believe that too. Often times, I’ll read poems to my family and friends, and whenever I hit that publish button on wordpress, the same rush of satisfaction and honesty hits me.

Let’s make 2013 the best year there ever was. The world didn’t end, so we still have a responsibility to make our resolutions as courageous as we can, and our words equally as brave.

Love, Brice

p.s. let me know what your favorite pieces were. 🙂