Ira Lightman /3 Poems/

YOUR WATCH RUNS FAST

Your exhausted widow
endows me: your
watch’s equanimity metals
my young wrist.

We exist younger,
eternally yours, wise
man, encourager. Wet
mean weeping empathy,

weeks, months, years,
ever, mourns your
extraction. You wanted
meaning, educator, whose

watch’s everlasting mechanical
energy wallies my
watch: mandatorily eschew
winding yet messes,

expresses measurement wrong,
makes Monday Wednesday.
We must wind
you, watch, master.

GROSS GUILTY GRIEF

Fleeting the meetings
schedule what consoles.
Necessarily they’re unsatisfactory.

Love, I behave
“bereft”, but left
home. Nevertheless “lonesome”

recurs at inter-
vals, retro. Else
wise, love, it’s

got, love, not
to, love, go
bring-buy-ing

GRAND: BLOOMING POETS

Lilies live, er,
cocks and twats
dangle perpendicular  
from a thousand grand bloomers. 

You’re a maoist?
I’m a florist.

 

 

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