"if it is not on the calendar,
it cannot be, it exists not!"
nml
yes, my words, oft recited,
in my defense,
when issues and extants of importance,
evade, go unremarked, alas, uncelebrated
this man~made device,
now an essence of essentials,
an app,
before apps were ubiquitous,
mundane, quotidian, prosaic, and banal,
no longer a diary, a journal more a scarf
capable of being wrapped about multiple necks,
a device of connectivity and
the unwelcome public isolation,
(why was I not invited to that event?)
it can be a savory,
used sparingly for the dates that must never be forgot,
anniversaries of birth & deaths,
of events assumed to be unforgettable
(where & when was I, upon giving birth
to this poem particular),
the why of the words well recalled,
the triggering, less so,
perhaps, deliberately so...
or it can be a chronology of the mundane,
The hour I awoke,
the timeline of my perfunctoriness,
those things that extend life!
but are somehow so oft overlooked,
(did I take my meds?)
the stuff of life,
or the stuffing of living,
and the desired time to enter into the critical
state of restful sleep,
which is provided and reminded solely
for your own
amusement
due. dates,
to do assignations & assassinations, in date order,
even motivational ticklers
to breathe,
to be mindful of thyself
it will not record the precise time a fly,
buzzed me as I scripted this,
what emotes I spoke when he predeceased me,
if any,
so I give my calendar a salutation most impressive,
My Imperial Calendar,
the only, most royale,
"personage"
we know who never forgets!
who cannot be denied,
and when it tickles me gently at 6:08aM,
with a daily perennial.
'Got any new poem abrewing?"
it cannot be ignored, for imperial
is rooted in the non~impishness of the
!i m p e r a t i v e!
missing; the mentality of summer;
one has ended,
another circle/cycle , on
my internal yearly aging tabulationIs done, for I am a Summerman
