April is the month of puppies,
Politics and questions rhetorical in bent.
Rally round the pix and 'pinions
Briskly piped as a Moroccan agora,
Or a circus, or Elmer Gantry's tent:
Figs! Save the bears of South Carolina!
Vacations in Spain, bikinis abound,
Making cookies today, full documentation to this here event.
The Greeks would have you make a house of your mind,
And put your thoughts within, so nothing's left behind --
But to live there, that's a horse of a different symbol or sign--
In life we note the one who mutters aloud on street corners,
Gives lectures unsolicited on the bus.
He speaks to the air --
In earlier times this was the Oracle, or the witch, the village idiot,
But now, in this Bluetooth clime,
What passes for the Electronic Man
Utters pronouncements through the Ether to those unseen,
Leaving us the dangling end.
The muttering commentary from the back of minds leaks up--
Should we call the plumber?
What will the neighbors think?
And who are the neighbors?
(And what do they look like?)
Shall we claim this moment of interjection,
Is in truth intended,
A stunt, licensed as the effusions of my immortal self
(call it "art" as need be) --
And implore all to "like" it, and "share" it?
The yawn is passed around, to what automated degree,
The inherited thrill of legacy, of college-party contraband,
Making it spin all 'round, like bottles for kissin' --
Is it Truth, or Lie, that's claimed to go "viral"?
What scent is it, or color,
That makes all the puppies in the shop bark as one?
For this undercurrent,
This muttering wind of daylight dreams has blown into my hands,
Down to fingers and typed well (Spell-checked or not),
And is now yours to behold.
Is it relief, to know you're not alone in this, this shared Jungian thing,
This Hitchcockian dream, river of symbols and signs?
Finally graduated, mortarboard surprise!
Rosebud into the furnace,
Whilst the search goes on.
It's a triumph of intellect, this community of artificial beings,
Ageless, synthetic, invented, appearing from nothing, omitted preamble and exit both,
As if we float, disembodied, in Limbo, listening to those other voices,
They who also await their own dispositions...
Indeed, it sounds suspicious, or contrived, until you compare to the local country club or PTA.
Search your memory for this kind of talk.
Listen as if to birds in the forest:
Kilroy was here.
Four score and twenty.
Hit "like" if you want to stop rain forest destruction.
GMO has got to go!
Jogging, wrote a poem, tonight to a jazz concert, summer's almost over...
Vote every day, we're going for number one! of this or that.
We see our thoughts and wish them real.
Look around the land of dirt and smells:
Light shows through the cracks.
It would disquiet, but
Photo-Shopped, all pretty now.
And that which isn't --
Unfriended, Blocked, Reported...
Is this your intellectual property?
Yes, from that part I'll admit to as "me",
Screen name, life avatar,
Today's knock at the speakeasy door...
Which world fades within the other?
Take a walk, feel the sun.
Tomorrow's but a frame of film.
Wir fahren fahren fahren
Auf der autobahn...