________________________________________________________________________________________________
Page 6
Immediately upon finishing
the J.D. Salinger book
written by
the literary Gods
gave me no choice
but to read
So I picked up the first copy
I could find
It inspired
a profanity-laced attack
directed at whatever idiot
was responsible for
for a surplus of scribbles
inside the front cover
Naturally, I discovered the identity
of whoever wrote notations
on AT LEAST
half the pages
of the 202 page novel
That idiot was the former
thirteen-year-old boy
mentioned
on the previous page
i.e.
Paul Oliverio
who once wrote
the following poem:
If forgetting were an art,
I'd be Van Gogh
then forget where my ear was
and cut off my toe
©©©
My next Salinger page
is here
________________________________________________________________________________________________
This is Dr. Raft, Paul's psychoanalyst and life-long friend.
ReplyDeleteWe talked on the phone today.
That is something we hadn't done for over a month.
We talked about tennis, pickleball, the New York Knicks,
and the doctor's personal problems.
However, When Paul read me this page,
I noticed it ended with one of my patient's
most famous poems.
Thereby creating a copyright issue within
the copyrighted existence of NINE PAGES and though
I apologize profusely, I cannot allow
any other comments here.
but I could not help but notice
This is Dr. Raft, Paul's psychoanalyst and life-long friend.
ReplyDeleteWe talked on the phone today.
That is something we hadn't done for over a month.
We talked about tennis, pickleball, the New York Knicks,
and the doctor's personal problems.
However, When Paul read me this page,
I noticed it ended with one of my patient's
most famous poems.
Thereby creating a copyright issue within
the copyrighted existence of NINE PAGES and though
I apologize profusely, I cannot allow
any other comments here.
This is Dr. Raft, Paul's psychoanalyst and life-long friend.
ReplyDeleteWe talked on the phone today.
That is something we hadn't done for over a month.
We talked about tennis, pickleball, the New York Knicks,
and a Los Angeles basketball team with a coach named HAM.
All the while we were laughing loud enough
to be heard somewhere on the interstate highways
between Long Beach, California and Delray Beach, Florida.
However, When Paul read me this page,
I noticed it ended with one of my patient's
most famous poems.
Thereby creating a copyright issue within
the copyrighted existence of NINE PAGES.
I apologize profusely, I cannot allow
any other comments here.