ANDROID

when you hum
it is less like a song
and more like a hard drive
clicking desperate for attention
overheating
artificial wind blowing through
your metal vents

when you speak
it sounds like
typing on a keyboard
the plastic tap dance opera
of isolated insight
i have to guess
what letter you are typing
to who
and if there is any purpose
at all

your eyes
are glazed over
like two monitors
and if i stare too long
i start to feel dizzy
sick, unproductive

your circular logic
is silver discs spinning
stationary
unnecessary
ready
to be dragged
to the recycle bin

i cannot hear you
lost in the white noise
of endless scrolling
the glass haze
of animatronic nightmare
the weightless dynasty
of your password-protected
intranet

your poetry
tastes like outdated
operating systems

your music
sounds like one thousand
fax machines
proudly projecting their
mating call
across the digital wasteland

you die like a phone
you are reborn
you die like a phone
you are reborn
we are all
just anxiously waiting
the release
of the
newer
better
faster
sleaker
sexier
more creative
more insightful
more imaginative
more delirious
more expensive
edition
of you

COPYRIGHT BRICE MAIURRO 2012

READ “CALIFORNIA, STOP SWALLOWING MY FRIENDS”

About these ads

MIKE TEEVEE

the weeks are slipping away like high school romance
we’re left with spare change and hangovers
and time and again someone to celebrate the day with
we’re depositing our hearts into swiss bank accounts
when we should be selling them on street carts
we should be listening to one another
but the air is polluted with wifi networks, with
bluetooth signals, with awkward silences,
with televangelistic exorcism

the air is polluted with the sound of all the wrong things
and the coffee shops are full of wolves in hipster’s clothing
the tables are all reserved
and all the empty houses are not for sale
three hundred million bulls in one giant china shop
three hundred million cats in a burlap sack
three hundred million people
trying to pull the actors off the television screen
and put them in their pockets and purses

a nation full of jabbering jaws
a nation full of broken ears

a nation full of kids
who ran away from home

COPYRIGHT BRICE MAIURRO 2012

READ “THE KIDS’ TABLE”