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tastes like outdated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

THE KIDS’ TABLE

at the grown ups’ table
the adults compare incomes through
cleverly disguised
vacation stories

at the grown ups’ table
they lace the expensive wine with traces
of spanish inquisition

at the grown ups’ table
everyone is wearing
fresh-pressed suits and pretty dresses above
the table but underneath
the table they sharpen their
knives with the steely edges of their
manicured claws

at the grown ups’ table
everyone makes a specific point
to compliment someone’s meat loaf
casserole, to play
advocate to someone’s ambrosia salad
while carefully ignoring someone’s
homemade raspberry vinaigrette
dressing

at the grown ups’ table
someone isn’t mentioning to someone else
that there is a tiny dated speck of political agenda
stuck between someone’s
grinded white teeth

at the grown ups’ table
there is assigned seating and you will be
tested on your acquired knowledge of
chilled salad fork,
soup spoon,
and when you toast
how appropriately you bang
your obnoxious knife against your
crystal wine glass (ideal for
riesling, just a sin to use for
cabernet sauvignon)

at the grown ups’ table
someone is offering to take your plate for you
so they can plot your social murder in the trenches
of the granite countertops of their
catalog kitchen

at the grown ups’ table
dessert means coffee and coffee means
conversation and conversation
means mental minesweeper; psychological warfare
over a lovely blitz torte served on the
second finest china in
this
american
household

meanwhile
at the kids’ table
everyone is playing with each other’s food
squished together at the colorful plastic table
and laughing at each other’s
jokes

COPYRIGHT BRICE MAIURRO 2012

READ “LOVE AND ITS FAMOUS IMITATIONS”

SPAM MAIL

To Whom It May Concern:

I am writing this amidst deepest woe and a puddle of tears. Recently Mr. F.J. Collins of Wiltshire, England has passed away. As a life-long companion, and personal accountant, of Mr. Collins, I know it was his dying wish to have his large fund of money dispersed to a stand-out person such as yourself. Mr. Collins’ bank account funds, surmounting to over 200000000000 pounds, will be transferred to you, as stated explicitly in his will, pending your return e-mail. To accept, please send a return e-mail with your legal name, social security number, bank account number, job history, a picture of you, your first born child and your darkest secrets.

Thank you,

Sincerely,
Connie Bristow, Esq.
Accountant and Very Trustworthy Person