It’s been five years since my last auto-suggest poem, “You Are a Sweet Girl” (2016). I wonder how I’ve trained my robotic co-author, Siri, during this interim.
RAW TEXT: The only way I could do that was if you wanted me too I could come and pick it out and then you can come over here if that’s cool and you don’t mind if we go out and have dinner with your dad or whatever and I could just come and hang with him or you could just hang with me or something and I could come and get it and we can go out to dinner and hang with my mom or whatever you guys can just go to dinner and whatever and I don’t have any plans or plans to do anything for the rest the rest the rest the week and the weekend but if I don’t want you to be here and you can come and I don’t have any more than one night or something I just want you to go out and then you know I just don’t know if I can come and get some food or whatever I just want you guys to help me out there I just want you can just come and hang with me or something I just want you can do that I just want you can go to sleep with me or something
The Only Way, or Something
The only way I could do that
was if you wanted. Me too.
I could come and pick it out. And
then you can come over here if
that’s cool.
And you don’t mind if we go out
and have dinner with your Dad, or
whatever? And I could just come
and hang with him, or you could just
hang with me, or something. And I
could come and get it and we can
go out to dinner and hang with
my Mom, or whatever. You guys
can just go to dinner and whatever.
And I don’t have any plans or
plans to do anything for the
rest, the rest, the rest…the week and
the weekend, but if I don’t want
you to be here. And you can come
and I don’t have any more than
one night or something, I just want
you to go out and then you know
I just don’t know if I can come
and get some food or whatever.
I just want you guys to help me
out there. I just want you—can just
come and hang with me or something.
I just want you, can do that I
just want you, can go to sleep with
me, or something.
Time to submit to The Paris Review or The New Yorker? Hmm.
***
