понеділок, 28 травня 2018 р.

Ira Lightman - Six Poems

Ira Lightman does a few books and public art and broadcasting and plagiarism sleuthing

Do not you
update ill
a no star review
without editorial

of the recent dead:
"Seeing your feed,
I'm reminded
of me."


Dataset pet related "mantis in town" - walled
uttermost mate, petit. Recall, luv it till it'll antler.
It had a Ms fired. Do then the clever bit
at the entry through anteroom, pit wifi time lite

-ferned?. Cc: unjust futile nefarious Me, try to wish
one lout a lie in Sundays. Kennelled at unrest
the rest of our day, the well-lain trite sir
forewore it box to toe, to bear for

the easier fought. I sue me, win ham through
then at the null failed service. The INTENDED trust
hurries the <Art Consultation>. With the dogged
both the winners. No. Lease the output, heir family.


Through timetides' tapers that manoeuvre multi-manifold
Alexandra attains a slope, sealess sandy surface,
foundation-fall for first foray and ambles abroad.
The traveller takes two opening observations of
her habitat's horizon: "Initially I inspect
for flora, fauna; finding none now necessarily
approach and anticipate, sifting soul samples so science
can calculate cleverly how hungry habitants here
would within weeks wholly be beyond basic behovely
nutritional needs. Next I, in instant intimacy,
dig down, duly divine whether waterfalls wait within
and I'm absolutely about to tackle that tough task."
She selects spade suitable to the task  then toes the tip
firmly forward finding spade skids softly  sliding so she
alters angle and aaargh! Below, bodies begin bleeding.
She strikes subterranean beautiful baby body parts
and all alive and agonised. Spade swivelling, she's shocked.

"Stop stabbing sleeping souls," shouts an arch angry announcement,
"you yesterdemn Yondar's young! They thrive through their tender years
dismembered down deeply dark and are assembled afterwards.
Lovely little limbs lie low, mix multiple maturing.
Our organs operate and activate asynchronous
for forty five fortnights before birth-berth, berth-birth, both, both.
Parent's pupils police,  push, with wisdom, with wholesomeness,
allow and accentuate, to tomorrow together:
you yesterdemn Yondar's young!"

                                                       Alexandra, an android,
multi-manifold's indoctrinated ideologue
born by bio-butchery retreats rough raw, rude raging,
callously contemptuous, scorns sealess sandy surface,
in instant is impossible, absent and away.


nor would I guess the possum flosses
I wouldn't harass: unnecessary, prissy

nor hurry the parrot to its referred carrot,
the correct cherry or barrette
for the fluffy quiffed in error;
the bitter butter for the committee of cattle,
the glittery batter for the nutty mutt and otter

loose food for the goose in the zoo
is a boost without ooze unlike boo

the puppy and a guppy and the grasshopper
want an apple what a whopper a happy pipped whopper

a hoof is not a foot
hooves are not the feet
of an unsoothed parakeet

will we not stop our boom of boo,
not bullied species' jollity
continually annul
till we see the butt of bull
won't pass his ally's call
unheeded, we won't cool our heels
until a stopping is agreed


Try a competitive game against yourself. Over and over fail,
go to level one, start again. Get to level three,
go and have to start again on level one. Appear to don
individual virtue all to death. Has no meaning, that.

Play to the end, it's sold something
with them; might be, different ways
to so "not quite possible" want to cross.
Virtual gaming on the computer, that.

Do ways to maximize the number of points
before finishing a level show who cares?
This is not called school. The called
game-haps want to get through the levels

with the maximum number of points
for all those levels. Most of us want to just
get through the levels. So we play,
maneuvering since I am being a bit clumsy

because there is in there a test, nude ass.
And so it is Charles's food in Toronto,
nude death. Charles's food in apples,
children. Children in the dolls, know

when I may call it WIN? An inspiration
comes in. The game has been made a part of my night.
I started the challenge of a chance. Give me
specifically to me, and that. Why, aren't you sick?

It too, baby doll, gets all the points to get to the left.
Get to the level. No, no, send message to go
so that I would drop the ball, if I didn't any slower. Or
if I send revised contract, perfect it?

Butt out, Dad. This is a living thing -
is clumsy too long, this. Time it about
with substance, developed skills.
It is very much about what the man said

about the off fish in "paradise". Is artificial.
We get little glimpses and we apply so-so skills. Then
in this town just for those moments in which we did have paradise
we play a stupid virtual game over and over

just verily to experience that connection.
And maybe pen
what become much more,
Randy? Baudelaire?

The answer unrequested for reassurance probably's the crises
_ when there are two, honeymoon edibility and hormonal icing
wean on the princess in the ballgown, the sergeant in the topper,
when we are more than lick, throat and guzzle
and the pleased met thumps of hearts as blood pumps
is scratched in the gummy tent cloth to the cortex
and idealisation leads to love or the labyrinth -
Facebook's not yet naff expanding photo wallet
of gurns and cheek turned to one's own phone's lens
holds each other's work intended and not
your image in my mind in the eternity of heaven
as a promise to enrol. Neither your kissed index dab
nor mine should be the bullets in a witchtrial
powerpoint, don't draw from them or on them
a rage emoji when the body is a nude
almost all side streets named on one bend.
I drove the many cattle of your habituations.
Let pain not low "shit shit"
when flanks sail the breath to the coccyx
and the sometime food back to land
the length of a full night's sleep.
I try standing straight, try laying your loneliness down.

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