- THE READING -
An apperception
slight, not quite so...
there centered & to
the Right, caped, beneath
that "Tanglewood Hat" and haute-
NorthStarred smile glanced-away
& back... & forward, like to
EffariG, wary on the
hot Mongongo Plains;
He finished not com-
pletingly in the haute
graces; "Hi!" "Hi!," the
foreward, attended
now, "I loved your Reading." "Yes,
pas mal, I love your
hat!, you are well?" "You
remembered!, of course, ahh!, the
One about the 'sweet
giraffe'... say do you
have plans...I thought a drink...catch-
up?, you seem fulfilled..."
"Yes, I, uh, do, but
then..." "No, don't... you're 'public', my
'Billy Collins', " she
ceded, eyes encaptive-
a-lit...thumbed his shoulder and
turned to a sway he
followed, the gatherers
as shadows danced, too released
& turned home to Write.
H.e.m./H’H.
8.6.MMv.
*(Revised- 8.21.MMvi.)
- "TUMI OR NOT TUMI?" -
...No, It was not my time
to jaunt & jump about
the Morld with You, to
glowering-green-glows
of Ischia, the privileges
of Mackinac, "...our Paris, Ilsa!"...
Ornamented ataud &
calefacted incinerators
merely better-funded!, to a last-
notice of proteaned hoar, the
dearth of silk...
So, it was to be
Goa, or Delhi "curry-in-a-hurry" not,
and the touts & shouts
as We passed...
You in those shoes,
toeing-up with heel asway
like a silent, ticking-pendulum,
Me, watching...
Allowing sole specialnesses, but a few
to my inti-mated Life,
why there was You insinuate...
E'er Yours-sporadic, tho'
an extravagance of Soul!, like
incipient Sinatra, or
the piano of Jarrett! But,
No, it was not your time
to jump & jaunt-about
with Me, but for You,
like a junkie afeared of needles,
to be going, & mine
to Write... of It, plecking-off
the pilpuls from
My blanket, & You to
replacing contoured batteries
and
for Now... perhaps as recent
as tomorrows' accident.
H.e.m./H’H.
c.5.10.MMvii.
- WHO CARES!, TWO -
...Friday nite @ the
Pitch An' Putts, the lithe-one sits
atop the Dollhouse
(Hole 4, adjacent to the
Castle, Hole 1) in clown suit
& makeup, waiting...
who'll give this date-night top flight
see beyond his gay
Parliacci for a pro-
stroker under the Windmill
beat the gent to a
hole-in-one? not much to ask
'gainst the task, clear the
links like grease off a sausage
swept-under the tattered green
these duds costing the
the amateur-a-plenty...
Hello there, how 'bout
a strokeless'n Thank you, no
we're...say, I know...aren't you?
why not? The Dollhouse
lights, Wind mills... Thank you! Thank you!
The bridge onto the
Castle moats (& yet where's the
tourneykit?), suffer the lil'
duffers, like Gretel
& Hansel for fairway to
wood in the crumbs... rough
nite, feelin' like a bogie,
need to big sleep, lies awake...
...Saturday nite the
Pitch An' Putts, the lithe-one, the
Dollhouse, the Castle
all along the watchtower
be back again, & again...
H.e.m./H'H.
12.2.MMix.
(Pecunia-Opulentia-Priapis)
ST
- OCTOBER RUSE -
You're going to do
what!? You're sorry!? You're sorry.
It's been more than 8
years, here, my daughter is twelve,
allowed the in-dignity,
we all do don't we,
blindly, the crush-cum-pain, but
in the name of an
authority and trust? You
must seek...I did, sought hidden
enemies lumped-in
amongst Nature, palpable
you said, yet...how few
or many are dead? Betty
came-an'-went, what of Jackie
more, what of she for
herself? CodePink is not what
you think, Medea
is the slayer whom lets and
quells the flow, you whom know but
mammo, no!, thermo
is gram positive, chemo
kills, the radio lies
to your bones, the October
rude & ruse, we are the Cure
You want to do what!?
To maim in the name of slash
'n burn, in the guyse
of ignorance. You're sorry!?
I am sorry too have to
put this pink ribbon
'round your blue balls in the name
of research & your
mammigrabs, October ride
with the breastless horsewomen
auntie maims not to
show business, cowed ingenue,
prophylacticized
perhaps, mammodamage for
the good of pharm futures, we
drink at the horsemone
synthqafer, neigh?!! Open-up
the blinders on the
feed, You're sorry!? my daughter
is twelve! I am the Cure, she
is, we all are in
penis paradise, Sorry!?
Tamox'fun no more!
H.e.m./H’H.
10.4.MMix.
(For MFP)
ST
- RAPID TRANSIT? -
A faster car, a
faster computer, faster-
acting antacid
faster service, an
Xpress check-out, a faster
return, a faster
delivery, faster
acting, living in Faster-
Land, for a faster
result, a Disney-
Whirl on the outerskirts of
Criminalsburg (past
Hurrysburg, PA)
bulletrades on the E-train
speedialed, speediern'
AlkaSeltzer burst
bubbles, bigger rude, hotter
nudes, faster foods
faster route, bigger
snout on the speedway, faster
than speeding bullets
fastern' the fast laned
SuperCurl, SupeSuperGlue!
& litmus turn blue?
Faster turnaround
time to backwards cheat, dancin’
as fast as ya can?
S L O W...
take the ES-CarGo &
drive with lobster hands
miss the plane/train/game,
& a faster break, divorce
Disney, no return
there not "Late-Late for
a very important dates,
goodbye... I'll stay &
let my fingers do
the walking", hurry-up &
wait computeless, eat
right, leftovers, fast
food not, slowfoodist moodist
fastidious, the
fastway hungray, Road-
runner/Speedy Gonzalez -
Andeleandele!
Not so swift, Johnny
ya cain't match quippin' fastern'
Jack Robinson, eh?
And buttons fasten
better without the snappin',
Snappin'!? Xpress check-
out, scan the scanner -
Queues Brevis-Vida Longa!
A fa$ter Eddie,
Fa$tCa$hFa$t on the
outerskirts of Crim'nilsburg
fastrack Fastow on
an end ron, 'cept all
for a fastdrying, faster
dissolve, Bubhub!, but
ready-set...on your
throttled Planete of the Ants
limit speed scurries
Nature don't hurry,
yet everything's accomplished
Lao Tze, yowtsayu?
But, the time for a
tasty hasty; aft, a crave
of HastyTasty?
Where ya goin' to
Ms. Hurry, Mr. Rabbit
Transit, down the hole?
Y'all know the score, don't
care to dare break It if'n
It ain't fixed, Hornk-Hornk!
H.e.m./H’H.
4.3.MMix.
- EDITR -
"Oh, I don't recall,
It was ago, yesterday
last night? Dunno. And
I'm infight, these fleet of
flighters, blighters what danced 'bout
my head..." "Despairing
disparages the
unawakening...yet comes
the carriage, portage
ensorcell, portaled
portaling..." "Oh, I peer from
behind my eyes in-
in, yet..." "EDITR."
"Yes, I do, but oh? "Do you?"
Of course, none else does..."
"No." "No!?" "Yes." You may
say so, but no!" "Yes. Scrutate.
Exacthought Data-
Informa Touchscreen
Resonator: EDITR."
"And?" "You think It; It
thinks you, egests." "Jests?"
That Book title, the Words to
the Song's lyric (in
the refrain), the name
from her, when..." "You mean...?" "Yes.
Brainexstrudels. Plumbs
of subunconscious
unrecalls-cum-forgottens,
dreams-unwracked, the packed
unpacked, EDITR
spits back - a melody un-
chained, that face that place
Psalm names, child'shood games,
commerced frivolitv
mislost keys, open
the dumbox..." "Do I...?"
"Aye, there's the taffy of the
smorzando, does the
microbuffer pre-
vale?" "I see." "Do you...?" Aye, a
was-cope?" "Oh." "You're like
a hungry baby
duck, splashing on the cheep, for
mem'ry frags; zeugma!"
"SLM's?" "Cowl'brate,
Cowl'brate, dance to the Moosic...!"
"Oh, I don't recall,
It was ago...I
enamour the Harbrace, that
place of wile and style,
needs to grammon, and
on..." "Ho, just fold between the
Rhymes, we're gonna go
& see Goethe, eh?"
"Umm..." "C'mon, Dan, the
ensorcell awaits,
the good occasion
is now, to not make-up your
Mind...RE-MIND! to the
Spaces-between-the-
traces, 'cause there but for the
First Cause graces...go
thy spoors - lasting meet-
ups, Rogetresplendes, the Wordless
Firstime thrill...Hmm? "AUM."
H.e.m./H’H.
10.30.MMviii.
(Anhelo Diligo)
H.E. MANTEL
