MICKEY MOUSE FOR PRESIDENT!

mickey goofy 2012!
minnie will make a great first lady
let america’s sweethearts into america’s suite
mickey promises candy to everyone
goofy’s stance on foreign policy is hug it out

roger rabbit for the democratic nomination
plenty of jessica rabbit scandal to push his platform
he will draw a better world into existence

when foghorn leghorn is speaker of the house
and betty boop is secretary of state
it’s hard to call the senate to order

paint the white house technicolor
these caricatured characters are running the show

hulk hogan for minnesota
who else can lay down jesse the body?

hulk for california
because who else can beat the terminator?

C3PO for foreign affairs
diplomatic, fair and he is fluent
in over six million form of communication

obi wan kenobi for new york
because he is our only hope

pikachu for florida
to deal with with the lightning issue

uncle sam has been impeached
for relations with a fox-y lady

ziggy stardust for wisconsin
because why not?

james bond for secretary of defense
other countries will be shaken, not stirred

paul bunyan for texas
because everything’s bigger in texas

kermit the frog will not be running
his marxist views are not reciprocated
plus puppet always do better on the media side
talking heads with hands up their asses

ronald mcdonald and the burger kind
will continue to run the food and drug administration

hannah montana for montana
elvis for vegas
sarah palin for alaska

american jesus for treasurer
because we really need god on our side

when you go to vote
remember
a vote for the count is a vote that counts

these caricatured characters
with shiny white teeth
and fresh pressed suits
dancing to “the entertainer”
in top hats, with canes
in the wings of the stage
the truth is being tied up
with wonder woman’s lasso
and they just keep dancing
to “the entertainer”
because who doesn’t love
the entertainer?

COPYRIGHT BRICE MAIURRO 2012

READ “BULLSHITTERS”

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BULLSHITTERS

there are these mannequins among us
constantly filming their biopics in their weasly heads
they talk like channel surfing
they make babies like they’re told
they point finger guns at the coppers
as they go to the astroturf universities for criminal justice
i wish they’d swallow their tongues
how the resolution of the digestive process thereafter would gracefully mimic their former speech patterns
cookie cutter rock stars
they used sugar instead of cocaine
apple juice instead of whiskey
they mock the labels of movements
that never wanted to be labeled
in expensive t-shirts
in canvas bags that will always remain unpainted
as profound as a coffee table
but nowhere near as conversational
they speak into microphones wired to headphones on their ears
on the importance of recycling
they steal, they plunder, they take what isn’t theirs
they leave their cerebral play-doh out
until it dries up and isn’t fun to play with anymore
weekend poets
“i can’t protest tonight, i’m getting my hair done”
cowards in lion’s costumes
princesses in burlap bags
whores in onesies
i lament the death of their individuality
not even
their very being
suffocating in an air-tight room of wandering
they dance like dead people
they make love like divorcees fuck
they sing other people’s songs
and forget the words
they follow cars
they spray-paint golden people the same shade of bullshit that they are
and print off equality flags
their rear-view and front-view and side-view windows
are covered with bumper stickers

they kiss with their lips
their hearts in a coma
they sing with their throats
as sirens shipwreck inside of them
tame tigers
ugly beauty contests
elitist religions
the open-door policies of bomb shelters
come-as-you-are black tie events
there are these manicans among us
with black market jackets filled with
imitation heartbreak watches
they give absurdity a bad name
as they watch other people play the victim
on high definition television screens
in their cars
as they drive through nature green and life-like
to bullshit towns
that they overpopulate
with overboiled ideas
and al dente emotions
holding hands
listening to the radio’s bleeding ears
as bullshitters
translate truth into
electric folk songs.

COPYRIGHT BRICE MAIURRO 2012

READ “THE GRAFFITI ARTIST”

THE GRAFFITI ARTIST

He told me he was addicted to pain killers for over three years. He said it had been several months since he had taken any but he was still getting high off of the residual effects of the drugs in his system. He looked me in the eyes like he was afraid that he would feel everything again all at once. He said for years he wore too small of shoes. He said he would need major surgery to repair the overlapping and cracked bones of his feet. Said that without pain killers he would be in a wheelchair for several months teaching himself how to walk again. He said when he slept with all the girls that he did, he couldn’t feel a thing; said because of this he could go for hours. He told me about how all of the girls hated that. He told me they rarely got a satisfying response from his numb body. He was a high school student. Had been kicked of several schools for fighting. He talked to everyone in the same voice, in the same tone, about the same things, and he would talk as long as someone was listening. He told me he did graffiti. He taught me how to create a tag, and for the only night I ever spent talking to him, I watched him, without a hint of emotion, tell me everything; I felt, in a way, that I understood him better than myself.

COPYRIGHT BRICE MAIURRO 2012

READ “AND I START TO WONDER IF MY NICE LITTLE PILLS IN THE RED DESIGNER CONTAINER ARE STARTING TO CUT OFF MY ABILITY TO RAMBLE”

COMING SOON

Flashlight City Press

ATTENTION BOOK REVIEWERS!

My first book of poetry, Enjoy Your Popcorn, will be coming out roughly at the beginning of this September. I am offering to give free copies of the book to a certain number of book reviewers who are willing to write something up about it.

If you are interested, please send me an e-mail to bricemaiurro@gmail.com, including as much info as you’re willing to provide, along with an address where I could potentially send you the copy and a link to your blog.

Thanks For Your Time,

Sincerely,
Brice

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

READ “ANDY WARHOL”

SOMETIMES I FEEL LIKE THERE’S A COWBOY ARGUING WITH A BUDDHIST MONK IN MY HEAD

and the cowboy always draws his pistol but the buddhist monk just walks through the walls of the saloon
and the buddhist monk tells the cowboy to relax try meditating and the cowboy says meditation is just an excuse to be lazy
and the cowboy swigs jack from the bottle and the monk sips tea from a cup
and the monk says inner peace and the cowboy says western expansion
and the cowboy says i’ve got a lady back home do you got a lady back home and the monk says that’s the only kind of love i’ve never known
and the monk sets his house on fire and the cowboy builds a shed
and the cowboy sings old diddies about america by the campfire while the monk hums to the sound of everywhere
the cowboy eats pork and beans, the monk eats nothing at all
and at high noon it’s midnight
and the cowboy spits his tobacco and the monk focuses on the truth
and sometimes they talk about their dreams and realize they both have brown eyes
but sometimes i just wish they would shut the hell up

COPYRIGHT BRICE MAIURRO 2012

READ “SUBTERRANEA”