Turning A New Leaf of Grass
Movers are on their way! I sit on the floor and eagerly await their arrival. Empty apartment, new beginnings, stomach of lavender latte & anxiety, Bloodstream pumping Adderall XR & Prozac through my veins;
Downsizing, upscaling, moving neighborhoods, moving up in the world, Moving back home in your heart, moving even further in your mind;
Staying sober, Getting high, Taking four flights of stairs to feel morally superior, to save $500, tipping $500 to offset the pain of making the movers climb four flights of stairs, Making men do things for me, Making men happy, Spending more time alone.
Ignoring texts, ignoring guilt, feeling guilty about ignoring guilt, Having an internal monologue that sounds a lot like The narrator on the deathbed edition of Leaves of Grass; I wish to be read Leaves of Grass on my deathbed. I wish I could read to my dad every newspaper article he’s collected In his life before his deathbed. Before his eyesight goes. While he has peace of mind and a soul to connect with. May our souls connect in heaven.
Converting to Transcendentalism, Becoming the Next Great American Poet, Because exactly what America needs right now is a white woman who thinks she has advice to give, Having nothing to say, Having a lifetime to listen;
Practicing patience, Reducing rush, Brainstorming a Goodreads review for a book I read two weeks ago, Likely typing my most intimate thoughts on nature and nurture and war and peace and love and family so my text can be web-scraped, text-tagged, cataloged, & fed into a large language model to predict sentiment scores of Amazon customer reviews;
Reviewing the accuracy of the generative AI’s topic generation And realizing its illegible to the human eye t_1 scored 0.17386, which machine-to-machine, We all know stands for Buy Low, Sell High, And if you just wait for Prime Day, Your order will be half off if you use code “Walt Whitman” at checkout;
I sing the Principle Component Analysis Electric. I came to Data Science to live analytically, And in every walk with a statistician, One encounters far more data quality issues than they seek;
Data sharing agreements as a mark of social decay. We lost the culture war. Homosexuals feel legitimized in asking For my hand in marriage;
Rights come in a slice of Derby Pie. There’s just not enough for everybody Unless we all want diabetes and a War on Terror And a war on being sober-curious And a war on rent control And a war on living in a walkable, fifteen-minute city, Where fifteen minutes of walking can take me to A Taco Bell, the Green Line Metro Stop, a Target that has to lock up the contact solution in the off chance a homeless nonbinary outside agitator drops a contact;
I am repeating to the blank walls & domesticated houseplants That no one is mad at me. The world awaits me With open arms And heaving breath And erect penis Waiting for me to suck DC off till I gag on it, Choke on it, spit it out, and ask for more;
If I can’t handle the heterosexual, Get out of Columbia Heights and back to Kentucky Where I belonged, Where my zipcode starts with a 4, And my community loves me forcefully;
Where my mom could be my alarm clock, And my little rat dog could be my melatonin. Let this be my year of poetry and parquet flooring purpose, Hardwood will have to suffice;
Shall I compare thee to a 30-60-90 Performance Improvement Plan? In 30 days, I wish to be a poet. In 60 days, I wish to read every book I’ve ever had recommended to me. In 90 days, I want Kamala Harris to be President elect. We the people, in order to secure a more perfect female presidency, Establish queer community and Insure dom/sub spiritual squirt sabbaticals are trans inclusive.