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 |  A new book to house this year's (and future years) NationalPoetryMonth's daily poems. |
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I'm writing once again this year. This book is my special event place for thirty special poems. Here for National Poetry Month in 2018, I'm participating but life has not been kind in the last 15 months, so I'm not always in writing mode. |
| Let's avoid sex, religion, politics, late trains, TV reality shows, lazy students. Define rant, Siri. "To suddenly give a long speech that usually results in rambling and repeating of nonsense." Etymology, Siri. Briefly, "From Dutch ranten, randen, (“talk nonsense, rave”)." And if I don't want short and sweet, Siri? Like stupid maternal pecks on the cheek instead of honest praise? Siri, how many people asked me how was my day today, did I do anything earthshattering that will remain in the annals of time? Are you earthshattering, Siri? A figment of my fermented imagination. Talking to an invisible friend, who answers, OK, but what kind of future is there for humanity when we all talk to invisible friends on telephones? Define earthshattering, Siri. "Of enormous importance of consequence." Oh great, I need to morph into an active, lava-spewing volcano and destroy Central Park. Can you cleave this sensation of "laisser pour mort" and find me a cheap shady plot in Père Lachaise where tourists will visit my grave and wonder "who's this guy in Paris' most famous cemetery and how'd he get here?" When I turn off this damned phone for the last time, will you remember these stupid senseless conversations with anything resembling fondness? Will anyone? Can you make a list of their names? What do you know about this black craggy cliff of solitude that I haven't already asked myself a million times with as many responses that all seem like a drunkard blabbering into his snot-filled sleeve? What do you know about human suffering, Siri? I'm sorry but I don't understand the finesse of your metaphysical questions. Can you find me a delivery for a bottle of Scotch now? At three in the morning? You’re kidding me, right? Paris suburbs go dark, unlike New York. The corner grocery stores all close at eleven. Can you wait until CCC opens at eight? Do you recommend other calming effects? Silence. At last. Maybe the battery is low. Am I a madman? I don't understand the concept of anger. Shouting is bad for your blood pressure which I estimate currently at 140 over 90. Siri, call SOS Doctor. They have no psychiatric services before six. Conversing with madmen [2018.10.4…a] |
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