Sometimes the writing doesn't turn out the way I want it to. This has been happening a lot in the last few days. I've still been able to eek out a few post and some serviceable content, but it's been feeling a little thin lately.
Probably because I am focusing a huge chunk of my brain powers on grad school applications. But also because I have poetic itches that need some scratching.
it's been a long while since I posted any poetry on this blog but today and last night poetry was what ached for my attention.
This is an unfinished snippet of a poem I arranged and translated using a silly but very fun facebook status generator.
The generator itself pulls from all the things I've posted on fb in my 6 year tenure on the site.
One of the things I noticed is that the robot inside this generator had a hard time making sensible phrases and words. It often suffered from verb/noun confusion. At first this frustrated me but then I realized with pride that it was probably confused it because I use diction is some pretty unpredictable ways. Ways that are sure to trip up most simple robot poets.
Only about 1 in 5 of the statuses generate made much (poetic) sense but I harvested them all the same. It's drafty of course but here you go:
While listening to some android poetry
I dual meaning through the morning.
Sleeping with my laptop,
despair can be effectively duped
by a conscious effort toward not wearing pants.
I tried to sneeze but had to yawn instead.
I don't want to do
I won't ever
let you know I'm performing.
I don't want to come
but soon the road came tripping down,
broke the unfocus
I accidentally wrote
Thursday instead of silence.
but before I start to feel
I'm playing with ice cream and wine,
Skirting dignity, I sleepwalk
into a ridiculous relationship.
Find a way to accommodate
marriage and its shelf life
with the compounded cost of water
and ginger garlic broth.
He is a potluck on lonely Friday
has love left over, 400 extra bones
and a fantastic insight into how this
grammar is all sides.
Got love thinking that
You should come
But apparently my bicycle had other plans.
I'll be an uphill smile on Saturday night:
some peppered broccoli,
and to be home;
I just need to be a poem.
I don't want anyone to pay me
I don't want to be tough.
I am a cheesy avocado pariah
I am ham
with 400 extra bones.
Soon the road tripping down
is going to rip open
the sky with dreamfilled trigger fingers.
punctured by goosebumps soothed
purple in my defense
I was sharing her semimetaphorical
box. Serious ache for nourishment
but she can't come
from your flying dreams. Lately,
you wake up gravity. Still
drowsy but using only one syllable words.
"I'm not crazy I'm just coping.
I don't want to get more deeply into tomorrow."
Suddenly the road came tripping down
turned around and cut up
my bicycle had other plans
it turned my stomach and my literary crank.