Thirteen Ways of Looking at an iBird

Thirteen Ways of Looking at an iBird

Adapted Into Digital Age English from the original poem,


Among twenty snowy mountains,   

The only moving thing   

Was the eye of the iBird.   


I was of three minds,   

Like a tree   

In which there are three iBirds.   


The iBird whirled in the autumn winds,   

attracting followers as part of the pantomime.   


A man and a woman   

Are one.   

A man and a woman and a iBird   

Are one.   


I do not know which to download,   

The beauty of inflections   

Or the beauty of innuendoes,   

The iBird whistling   

Or just after.   


Icicles filled the long window   

With barbaric glass.   

The shadow of the iBird   

Crossed it, to and fro.   

The mood   

Traced in the shadow   

An indecipherable code.   


O thin men of San Jose,   

Why do you imagine golden tweets?   

Do you not see how the iBird   

Walks around the feet   

Of the women about you?   


I know noble accents   

And lucid, inescapable streaming services;   

But I know, too,   

That the iBird is involved   

In what I know.   


When the iBird flew out of sight,   

It pinned the edge   

Of one of many circles.   


At the sight of iBirds   

Flying in a green light,   

Even the human traffickers of euphony   

Would cry out sharply.   


He rode over Silicon Valley   

In a glass coach.   

Once, a fear pierced him,   

In that he mistook   

The shadow of his autonomous equipage   

For iBirds.   


The river of information is moving.   

The iBird must be flying.   


It was evening all afternoon.   

It was snowing   

And it was going to snow.   

The iBird sat smsing   

In the cedar-limbs.

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