The 21st century may be out to get me-

The 21st century may be out to get me-
I took a Buzzfeed quiz, and it told me
that if I was a poem,
I’d be the John Mortara poem
 ‘The Bullshit’.

My Autocorrect tells me
I am spelling autocorrect incorrectly.
It was pretty pissed-off about it.
When a computer program becomes
that self-aware and assertive,
I start to worry about its’ motives...

Last week Autocorrect changed
“enthusiasm” to “euthanasia”.
Then, when I was typing this poem,
it changed Buzzfeed to buzzsaw

Who’s paranoid now?

The 21st Century may be
trying to drive me insane.
Don’t get me wrong-
I love the 21st century,
but like that passive-aggressive lover
you can’t live with, and you can’t live without-
Parts of the 21st Century
are best dealt with
with the help of pharmaceuticals.

Ambien Dreams are the best dreams,
aren’t they?  Ever had one?
There are entire websites
devoted to Ambien Dreams...

In my Ambien Dream,
My Poetic Muse  looked
a lot like Katherine Zeta Jones,
in that Zorro movie-
She carried a long whip,
and a bag full of adverbs,
and she made me produce
 a tv game show for her 
called Wheel of Sonnets.

We were at a bar with Allen Ginsburg
and Jack Kerouac,
and they were arguing over who had
a better score on Goodreads.
I don’t know who won,
but Dorothy Parker was sitting in the corner
snapping photos of the fight to post on Flickr.

We got so drunk on words
that Charles Bukowski took me aside
and told me, “Man, you need an intervention”.

Emily Dickinson emailed that
she wasn’t going to be joining us
because she’d been up all night
streaming Beyonce videos.

I got instant messaged by Robert Frost-
he needed five synonyms for
“dickhead neighbors” that
the editors would allow in The New Yorker.

Edna St. Vincent Millay kept Skyping me -
Bukowski had been drunk texting her again.

I staggered out of the bar
and ran into Henry David Thoreau,
and he wanted me to watch a dozen videos
he’d posted on YouTube -
God help us, he has cats at the cabin now...

Edgar Allan Poe popped out of a manhole
with a Goth Groupie Gang-
and recited a poem about how
Goths love Depressive Men in Black-

I ran for my car, turned on the radio,
and Shel Silverstein was singing a song
- Dr. Seuss lied about the Grinch.
He never gave back the toys!
He was hunted down, beaten to death
and eaten by murderous, starving Whos.

I woke from my Ambien Dream
to find that I’d used my keyboard
to batter my monitor senseless.

The 21st Century may be
trying to drive me insane.
I love the 21st century-
But like that ear-worm song
that eats into your consciousness
I keep hearing Catherine Zeta Jones
reciting ‘The Raven’ over and over and over-
And I’m out of Ambien.