DARWIN AND SHIT

i want to be the jim morrison of american poetry but that’s taken.

plus i’m not skinny or super interested in that degree of excess.

maybe i’m more like the kurt vonnegut of american poetry?

god dammit i can’t compare myself to other authors.

i shouldn’t say “of american poetry” either. it’s almost outdated in a way. when the trafalmadorians arrive they will not have time for this concept of “america” so i might as well start referring to myself as an earthling poet.

i want to be the madonna of earthling poetry, except even more insecure than madonna.

i want to find what the poetry equivalent of smashing a guitar on stage is and do that.

don’t say ripping a poem up on stage. not comparable.

maybe i should just be the brice maiurro of earthling poetry.

profound brice. someone give this man a cookie.

maybe i should be the chocolate chip cookie of earthling poetry.

ok. earthling poetry is starting to bug me.

human poetry.

uhhhhh,

maybe i uh yeah maybe i should do something else.

the trafalmadorians are not going to be fans of human poetry.

i should be sipping the water on mars.

wouldn’t that be great? if i just used it to boil some ramen noodles?

not a big fan of ramen. maybe cup of noodles.

i am the cup of noodles of american poetry.
cheap and full of MSGs.

do people try to make their poetry rock and roll or is just part of their nature?

how do i make rock and roll part of my nature? would i have to give up my affinity for watching documentaries because i will not give up the documentaries.

you can’t make me.

quit trying to make me into something else.

nobody makes me into something else except me.

that’s right.

i’m the charles darwin of human poetry.

survival of the fittest and shit.

COPYRIGHT BRICE MAIURRO 2015

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