Andrew Levy

BY THE TIME I GET TO YOU

A frightened lamb in a trap got no plank in a trap, got no
Growing habits praised like always for the hole sketch making
It stir. How shapeful, smooth and trim it was living like lava-stone
Living tissue the visual dynamics camouflage in a convoy.
Better get the subcutaneous implanter in a pair of tweezers
Ready and yet condemn the rest of servitude as the parlor
Restores a streak of light microchip. It what seems a bizarre
Obscenity terrorism takes a shower married to science and
The well-dressed man on the telephone played by Denis Hopper.
Various businesses descend more swiftly than the sun sets.
A crude irrigation system of a cartoon stick man mortarboard
Handling the paperback release with a bad cold announced:
‘The ship answered no transmission for places and people
Gray and heavy on a substitute train.’ Consumer zones
Offending review was pored the crossbow postal order
Yearning no savage expired witnesses painted a month from now
A rope swung down into the underworld screeching tires
And a furious beep. That won’t dry its mellowness miffed at
Anything to console a cuckolder’s issuing the order
Thunderously angry rotted stage saying, good-bye, my soul.
Offshore won’t dry. The entire tragedy is an intriguing animal.
Hemorrhages and amputations determined not to cry, the
Dumbstruck crowd in an ending flat pulled levers. To my delight,
A Belgian cracker don’t have personalities; it possesses
A superb mind. The elevator in one curfew tossed our bodies
Was busted flushing dishes on Hawaii. A gorgeous passage
Toast on the beach flip-flops jumped across the balconies
Cussing so crazy best loved arts guru above the pansies.
The original documentary grumbled about losing a day’s work,
Uncogged in a leaky shelter poured onto the carpet. We drove
Deeper in the country, against a backdrop of gossip redesigned
My quarter’s malcontents a billionfold bubbles.
 
 




I WAS TAUGHT THE WRONG APP

I see the face of the man they dragged into the living room,
His hands bound with a belt. I didn’t have the courage
To rummage through the entire culture. Verbal or physical
Or sexual biologists have observed that the human body
Shatters into a thousand shards of laughter; piercing
Like the slivers of broken bottles. People are finally
Beginning to notice that there is a culture that is really
Unsafe. My poem will be the most comfortable poem
You will ever read, given your short-term memory.
The uses are endless, transitions indoors to out live
The good life with fresh milk on permanent display.
Some people want more. Did I say this was a poem
To the reader? It called the allegations preposterous.
To move in it differently, you might love someone in
The middle of the poem. Minimize the damage?
The pattern of abuse promulgated a transparency that
Leaves so much out the web moves in its sleep
To twitter their handle accused of pimping their power
To the finance chairmen destroyed in its proximity
To whatever water a revolution bumps into a piece
Of furniture. Its response seems to be extremely
Partisan. Halfway down, for those wishing to enjoy a
Grand spectacle, the excursion establishes a free union
Of cheerily conciliatory words. Halfway down,
An attempt to curb two adversaries social behavior
Is quite fascinating to what unfolds. A long gorgeous
‘You Don’t Know What Love Is’ by law enforcement
Is too much. For all the facts to be presented, until the end
Of that conclusion, its enchanting spell fortifies the sunlit
Footsteps and all their shadows. When I said this
Was a poem, the seven continents, the seven seas,
The seven wonders sail beyond the Event. The interiors
Are despicable. And their employees, too.