THRILLER (WHY DON’T YOU MOTHERFUCKERS LIKE POETRY?)

oh man
you motherfuckers love your live local bands
and your froyo shops
you watch hbo religiously
and you love to throw packets of color
at each other
you love your dubby step
and your sufjan fucking stevens
so why don’t you motherfuckers like poetry?

you love your new age
mind expanding we are all one concepts
your love everybody and your empathetic swansong
you love all of this
but you refuse to hear it out of the mouths of
gibson arkind williams kerouac the other williams
and a lot of other really talented motherfuckers
who do give a shit about poetry

did high school shake it out of you
do you hear glade commercial haikus
and militant douchebags challenging math
when you think of poetry?

you ever think of john coltrane
or steven colbert or your idiot little nephew
trashing your bathroom
for the poetry that it is?
look
poetry doesn’t have to rhyme
it will not bite
except for that’s a lie
poetry is not dead
it is undead
it is crawling out of the ground
like the zombies in Michael Jackson’s
thriller video
yeah you know
shit’s undead
and it’s not sleeping well
because the internet
is the graveyard
and poetry
is the singing-and-dancing
super star zombie
Michael Jackson
from the video
for his 1983
hit music video
thriller

COPYRIGHT BRICE MAIURRO 2014

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AND I START TO WONDER IF MY NICE LITTLE PILLS IN THEIR RED DESIGNER CONTAINER ARE CUTTING OFF MY ABILITY TO RAMBLE

and the monk is far far gone in some universe i can’t join him in
and there’s five white guys on television arguing for the elephant throne and i don’t know their names and i should know their names
and the fridge and i haven’t moved all day and i called in sick for my psychology test today but i couldn’t even get to the core of my own apple at the moment
and this moment is dedicating itself to slackjaws who are happy spending their lives playing backyard horseshoes and the other guy online who agrees with me that newt gingrich looks like the keebler elf
and i haven’t spoken to jack daniels since school started – he texts me from time to time to see what i’m up to but i tell him i’m busy but really he just always overstays his welcome and gives me a headache with all his macho bullshit
and anne coulter is somewhere bitching and moaning about things she didn’t take the time to understand and in heaven, socrates is throwing darts at her face
and in heaven michael jackson is happy that no one is bothering him and in heaven everyone is shaking their angel heads at us
and sometimes i wish i was in heaven too but first there’s too much good poetry to write about this place
and my chores are just gonna have to wait because today is dedicated to freedom
and somedays i wish i could just walk around with a sleep mask on
or even better, i could do a sensory deprivation mask like politicians and tobacco lobbyists and the official american television fan club
and before these pills and my first major revelation of driving my life towards my own happiness i used to never finish what i started and now i always do
it’s my day off and i’ve become a turtle writing about the inside of his shell
so for once, for the first time in a long time i’m gonna stop writing and find myself again in the honesty of incompleti-

COPYRIGHT BRICE MAIURRO 2012

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