. The Phones with apologies to Edgar Allan Poe Phones, phones, phones, See the people with their phones, Silver, pink and paisley phones, On the subways and the buses and the sidewalks, all alone, Lost in intimate exchanges with their phones, phones, phones. Hear the murmuring of phones, In their muffled monotones, Feel the muted tremulations, like the buzzing of the drones, Hear the pinging and the dinging of the phones.. Passing time, time, time, In a strange robotic rhyme, With the tintinnabulation of the tones, tones, tones, All the people look the same to me, like clones, clones, clones. See the driver with the phone, How it chills you to the bone, See a world of seven billion navigating all alone, Through the secret sibilations of the phone, phone, phone, phone, phone, phone, phone. . . Desire Emerging from the dawn's ambrosial mist in starry veils from milky galaxies; seductive as the Satyr in a tryst with waves voluptuous on surging seas; her smile induces songbirds to rejoice, her skin is silken, like a cherub's wings, her lips are passion's reddest fruit, her voice caressing, comforting, in whisperings of breezes barely stirring; in her eyes there burns a black quiescence that defies surrounding gales, and in her soul the prize of fire Promethean to tantalize the troubadours who lust for dawn's reprise while fevered loins and lyrics agonize. . . Paul, a lifelong Chicagoan and retired college teacher, is an author of books, poems, progressive essays, and scientific journal articles. He recently completed his first historical novel, 1871: Rivers on Fire. His most recent non-fiction book was Disposable Americans, published in 2017 by Routledge.