my skull is the cage
dunked deep in the water and those sharks are circling
blaring siren warnings shotgun shells turnstiles burning
as line form into crowds
and crowds form riots
and riots blaze amazing fires of momentous output into
ugly underbelly of this american dog.
a culture stuffed with rape,
organized by blind men
and defecated on by the buildings
that think they can look down on us
simply because they are taller
what they do not know is we are angels
that choose to move amongst
the alleys of hell.
we are angels that choose
to turn tricks for dollars
and un-shove dollars into gas tanks
and recreate fossil fuels by moving our dance steps
what they do not know about us
is the way that we can rearrange our bones
to make ourselves awesome towers,
less of babel,
more of clear concise speech
and we reach up to heaven
where we deny the clown of thorns
that has been strategically placed
in this game of thrones
and we replace him with our own angel.
an angel who sees in kaleidoscopic color.
an angel who will close her eyes and
put a white paranoid man in one hand
and a black child in the other
and determine which soul weighs more.
and will determine if blood should be a color on a flag.
and will determine if these colors truly don’t run
because here we are.
of a million little jack kerouacs
scurrying the nation like proud field mice
amongst men with shotguns
and egos the size of
television news empire.
we hold these truths to be self-evident:
we are at war with ourselves.
a cancerous country that smokes a cowboy on one hand
and a camel on the other.
we are throwing punches in the dark
when we could attempt to stand on each other’s shoulders
to reach for the light.
we want to live.
we want liberty.
and we could never be denied the pursuit of happiness.
the bald eagle.
our hair line receding
let’s not just give up
and eat crackers and soup
from a lounge chair
watching the ol’ wooden chaos box
with a beer in one hand
and our nuts in the other.
yellow bracelet around our wrist
pink ribbon over our chest
we fight disease like a never ending cold war.
we are not the country the world thinks we are.
we are millions of people lost under a false identity.
we are the girl next door whose been made to dress like a slut.
we are Teddy Roosevelt using his presidential power
to sleep underneath the yosemite sky.
we are francis scott key’s second cousin thrice removed
who chose not to write about the bombs the bombs the bombs
or the fireworks
but about that fading green light
and the ever watchful eyes
and the year is 1984
and the year is 1776
and the year is 1863
and we really should stop procrastinating on these things
we really should put a fresh coat of paint on this old model t
this old identity
that has indentured us to be
something that is centric to who we are
from sea to shining sea
COPYRIGHT BRICE MAIURRO 2013
READ “YOUR MAGIC ELECTRIC FLY TRAP”