Vincent Toro
Algorithmiac
Style used to be an interaction between the human soul
and tools that were limiting. In the digital era, it will have
to come from the soul alone. -Jaron Lanier
An app to call your mother for you on
her birthday. An app to turn traffic
into a tulip garden. An app
for when your favorite sweater
is ready at the cleaner.
An app that draws blood
moons onto the walls
at the post office.
An app that predicts when
a pineapple will ripen.
An app that shares
your wittiest anecdotes
with the nearest hogs. An app to kneel
for your when your sister’s
melanoma is malignant. An app
to agree with you when
the audience has fallen asleep. An app
for when your birthday bludgeons
you with dour questions.
An app to celebrate each time another
dishwasher gets fixed. An app that begs.
An app that listens even when
you are entirely incoherent.
An app to sell off your old
magazines and an app that
refashions dentures into colonnades
whenever the blows you struck
crawl through your intestines
clogging your best intentions.
An app that rots or riots
on command. An app that
functions without a thumb
to guide it. An app to eliminate undesirable
scents. An app that shakes
the sand from your bathing suit
while checking your father’s
cholesterol. An app that goes home
with the wrong guy
for you, so that you can
go home with the right one.
Style used to be an interaction between the human soul
and tools that were limiting. In the digital era, it will have
to come from the soul alone. -Jaron Lanier
An app to call your mother for you on
her birthday. An app to turn traffic
into a tulip garden. An app
for when your favorite sweater
is ready at the cleaner.
An app that draws blood
moons onto the walls
at the post office.
An app that predicts when
a pineapple will ripen.
An app that shares
your wittiest anecdotes
with the nearest hogs. An app to kneel
for your when your sister’s
melanoma is malignant. An app
to agree with you when
the audience has fallen asleep. An app
for when your birthday bludgeons
you with dour questions.
An app to celebrate each time another
dishwasher gets fixed. An app that begs.
An app that listens even when
you are entirely incoherent.
An app to sell off your old
magazines and an app that
refashions dentures into colonnades
whenever the blows you struck
crawl through your intestines
clogging your best intentions.
An app that rots or riots
on command. An app that
functions without a thumb
to guide it. An app to eliminate undesirable
scents. An app that shakes
the sand from your bathing suit
while checking your father’s
cholesterol. An app that goes home
with the wrong guy
for you, so that you can
go home with the right one.
Vincent Toro is the author or STEREO.ISLAND.MOSAIC., which was awarded the Poetry Society of America’s Norma Farber First Book Award and the Sawtooth Poetry Prize. He is recipient of a Poet’s House Emerging Poets Fellowship, a New York Foundation for the Arts Fellowship in Poetry, The Caribbean Writer’s Cecile De Jongh Poetry Prize, and the Metlife Nuestras Voces Playwriting Award. Vincent teaches English at Bronx Community College, is poet in the schools for Dreamyard and the Dodge Poetry Foundation, is writing liaison for Cooper Union’s Saturday Program, and is a contributing editor at Kweli Literary Journal.