poems by Brice Maiurro
To crack open the summit to let in the light.
The Earth surrendering to the Wind.
The eyes surrendering to the rapid flash of dreams.
Firewood splintered open licked by the flames.
I will die so that I can live.
with hands outstretched
towards the same sky
that has tried to destroy them.
An entire life of thirst and desire.
A conviction to pain,
faith that has no eyes,
only dry hands placed against the dust below
Behind the walls built upon the rib cage,
beyond Death painting the front door of the sternum red,
past the spine of Bodhisattva mountains set on fire,
there is something rustling in silence.
Those twenty-one grams,
twenty-one refugees unto even this temporary home
refugees that lift from the lungs and whisper
not that everything will be okay
but that none of this will have been for nothing.
Dragon Blood Jasper
the liver / the tongue / the gut
the fire / the war / the breath
the dance / the embers / the rebirth
the red / the green / the season
to own / to hold / to let go
I set the citrine on my tongue and close my eyes
and again I am there wandering my Aunt’s house
holding a new born child and in that moment
for maybe the first time in my entire life I understood
what it is like to truly care for something, to hold the
future in your arms and simultaneously understand
what huge and what tiny glass creatures that we are.
Brice Maiurro is a poet and writer from Denver, Colorado. His poetry has been featured by Really Serious Literature, Horror Sleaze Trash, Suspect Press and Stain'd. He is the Editor-In-Chief of South Broadway Ghost Society. You can find more about him at maiurro.co.