FAST LANE

it’s chutes and ladders
and ups and downs
and elevators that go to nowhere
and people who talk to much
and the quiet ones
who you always have to worry about
and there’s just so much noise
and noise and noise
excessive noise
and there’s cars that rip by
and invisible night pedestrians
in all black who you almost hit
who you only see in your rear view mirror
and they’re condemning the building
to make a church
and they’re imploding the church
to make a big box business store
and the grass dies beneath the floorboards
but the people live above the linoleum
and there’s a man playing a violin
and the sun is out and its day
and we’re bustling and bustling
and we’re packing the groceries
into the cart
and we are hunters
fierce commercial hunters
and we are bringing home the bacon
to the twelve screaming baby birds
and we are feeding them the worm
and raising them to fly
and teaching them to move
at five hundred miles per hour
like the rest of
and the hustle and the bustle
continues on and we are blurs in transit
we are smears on the sides of car windows
and some of us are flies on the windshield
but there is no time to stop
because we have our final destination in mind
and we have no clue how to get there
and the gps is sending us in circles
and the cabby doesn’t speak english
and the line is out the door
and we’re moving, we’re moving
we’re constantly in motion
the world is turning and somedays
it is turning against us
but we keep in motion
at a pace faster than those before us
and the escalators ascend us to heaven
where we check out through the fast lane
ten items or less
with twenty things in our carts
and we are opening the back gate of the minivan
and we are shuffling around the city
and we are listening to the radio song
at 60 beats per minute
and we are motion
we are constant constant motion
and we are double-lane fast food
we are roaring engine
we are dying phone battery
and did anyone notice the violin player?

COPYRIGHT BRICE MAIURRO 2013

READ “NATIONAL ANTHEM OF ANYWHERE”

About these ads

WHERE HAVE YOU GONE TO, AMERICA?

i tried calling
you didn’t pick up

where have you gone to, America?
i can’t find you under my bed or in my closet with the other monsters
you seem to be everywhere all at once like you’re imitating God, but maybe you’re just photocopying yourself until the ink turns to white like your flag on the moon
where have you gone to America?
when I go down on you, you never return the favor

where have you gone to, America?
your model homes are empty
your desks in your schools are empty
your teachers are just praying for tenure
where have you gone to, America?
are you in Central Park with those cast to the corners?
are you in Brooklyn with the rappers who reside in check out counter headphones?

the Dodgers are in Los Angeles now
the Lakers are in Los Angeles now
how come she always gets whatever she wants?
where have you gone to, America?
your youngest daughter still needs you

where have you gone to, America?
your unwrapped gifts are stacking up under the Xmas tree
your churches have walls to expand for the holiday rush

where have you gone to, America?
you left the groceries out on the table
you left your poor friends out on your San Francisco doorstep
you left your children at school with a gun
and you want to blame the trigger for the finger that pulled it

you want the television to babysit us
while you go out drinking with strange men

i tried leaving you this message, America
but your mailbox was full

COPYRIGHT BRICE MAIURRO 2012

READ “ANDROID”

A LETTER TO A BANK

dear bank,

i know what you did, and you broke my heart
i hear your clinking heels come by my window at night
i’ve been nickeled and i’ve been dimed
you are 52 fictional stories tall
a full house of cards
and a plastic laugh track plays when we beg for a loan
your wagon has driven off the coast of california
and as it collides with the ocean floor its tremors
turn to earthquakes
birthquakes that tremble dresses of bimbo whores

dearest bank,

you broke my heart
then charged me an overdraft fee
i can’t remember the last time i held a physical dollar
i can’t remember the last time i held your hand
try and understand
i want you back
i do i do i do
when the fridge is crying at midnight
telling me it’s hungry all i’m thinking about is you
oh great cash register building!
wolf in sheep’s clothing
masquerading as guardian angel to my sweet denver
homeless hobos and scummy bums shine your shoos
oh great cash register!
beneath your great ship slaves row – oh ee oh -
to move you along
how could you do this to me?
customer since 2006
platinum debit card
and all the pretty horses on the merry-go-round
under the reigns of your painted wagon
come circle-jerking backaround
and the music plays laa la la dee da
and i am enamored once again
instantaneous forty hour work-week come to fruition
at the click of a button, slide of a card
convenience with a convenience charge
oh great cash register in the sky!
you are squatting without permission in the house of the lord
and denying god a second mortgage

my dearest bank,

the buck stops here
i don’t want my money imaginary anymore
and i understand
that you have overdraft fees
account transfer fees
balance inquiry fees
atm fees at your
automatic teller machine machines
to help teach me about responsibility
ain’t that the pot calling the kettle black
i’m leaving you
loyalty department (talking paradox)
try and stop me

COPYRIGHT BRICE MAIURRO 2012

READ “MOTIVE”