Oh, please, the window’s there, the breeze!
If you understand then you have borne it, foot in hand,
grab your elbows opposite, squeezed the knees and wheezed.

decided to buy the iPad too.

“Hooray!”

“What fun!”

“It’s time we do!”

Cried Apple Me, Papple Me, Tapple Me, too.

Apple had iphone, Papple had two,

and Tapple Me’s ibook put them in cue

as apps

and apps

and apps accrue

for Apple Me, Papple Me, Tapple Me, too.

Apple Me, Papple Me, Tapple Me, too

Got their ipads just after debut

“Photos!”

“And Movies!”

“And Music too!”

Boasted Apple Me, Papple Me, Tapple Me, too.

Apple Me, Papple Me, Tapple Me, too

“Touch screen!”

“And Ibooks!”

“It’s long overdue”

cried Apple Me, Papple Me, Tapple Me, too.

Apple Me, Papple Me, Tapple Me, too

Will never return to the Windows zoo

“What’s next!”

“What’s new!”

“We’ll get a tattoo!”

Vowed Apple Me, Papple Me, Tapple Me, too.

]]> http://www.petespoetry.com/?feed=rss2&p=337 0 http://www.petespoetry.com/?p=340 http://www.petespoetry.com/?p=340#comments Sun, 11 Jul 2010 06:01:00 +0000 admin http://www.petespoetry.com/?p=340

Echu Ollathir to us bespeaks through sadness of his love:

“The death spirit of the boar enters the body.  It is the messenger of light.  The animal is within us.  The animal is the land.  The land is the life within us –nourishing and whole.”

So bespeaks the Dagdae of his love and also his sadness.

There she stood in the thick straw,

legs still unsteady from the twenty-

five staggering miles between farms,

staring out at the sun, warm and bright,

where Moses stepped into the trailer.

The Messiah looked down upon her,

judging her animal nature — reckoning.

He looked up, as if to see

the Lord near the sun, singing.

He listened. . . and paused.

The sign clear, Moses smiled

as he began to load the shotgun.

She stepped closer to the trailer’s edge

and greeted the Messiah’s outstretched arms

not perceiving the power of his hand.

Dark steel gray poised, touched her temple.

She shivered and turned her head

from the cold whisper of its breath.

INSTANTLY blind from the noise.

In shock, though far from dead,

for God had not guided its viral spray home.

Pain and blindness reigned,

and she squealed. . . and squealed

and raced around in red fright,

slamming into the thin metal side of the trailer.

The Messiah wrestled with her, grasping.

His soiled fingers on her soft pink skin bruised her innocence.

And Moses spoke:

“Get the Fuck over. . . God Damn You!”

and he threw her to her back.

Her adrenaline subsided slowly.

She lumbered near the wall,

feeling faint, the cold metal and the hay

biting into her naked back.

Pink skin, untanned, now spattered

with speckles of red spitfire.

Moses gripped his buck-knife in his right hand

pulled it from the sheath at his side

and jabbed the jugular, twisting,

released his grasp on her shoulder

and stepped back quick to observe.

Then Moses turned and walked away triumphant.

The Israelites remained to watch and wait.

She staggered to her feet,

stumbled out of the trailer,

stood and watched the life flow full

from the faucet at her throat.

She who was raised without God,

without religion, with no prayers to say,

no fight left in her vacant veins,

void of will,

smelled the hay beneath the thick scent of gunpowder,

tasted the liquid left in her mouth,

felt the cold earth hard from a night frost

and fell as the sun set its last golden ray

silent and sweet.

And the Israelites gave grace.

“The universe and the soul are indestructible,

but fire and water will sometime prevail over them.”

So said Strabo

to locate

your soul’s refraction

of seamless

satisfaction

for your breath is more promising

than death

I have seen the last breath

of night by morning light

and sucked life from it

Eight legs

Smiling she waits

Silently

As I dance

I tremble with love

And twist about

She spins

Encircling me

With her power

I am lost

the air currents

chase each other

in the dusk chill.

Up lifting down…

frigid waters await

with Carmina Burana

occupying ears.

Up lifting down…

with spinning mind

racing for decisions

as easy as the wind.

Up lifting down…

the gift of flight

is short lived

and falls fleeting.

splayed about the room

about me

and my twisted

heart eases.

I imagine my fall

into the path

of the sped

subway yet stay

my footing

lest my desire

should unbalance

my will