29.4.25

cleanshaven4theraven (funeral koans), by Yohnmean Yoh (여연민)

The Korean War was a proxy war enacted on the Korean Peninsula by neighbouring great powers. Millions of people were butchered over those three brutal years, and the former national territory was utterly destroyed. – Han Kang (trans. Deborah Smith)

The controller of my dreams is not I. To have blocked off from each other these two persons unable even to shake hands is a great crime. – Yi Sang (trans. Walter K. Lew)


i. garglings4gargoyle

puerile writhelings overawed by the sky
puerile roundlings over-awed via some 'poltergeist'
poltergeist'd heists of ex-nations (n./s./38th)

counterintuitive con-job discombobulates the mob to be fobbed

rat-fang clangs da din gong

ii. cluster-pie

fossilized faces of old, anguish untold.

iii. cleanshaven4themaven

cosmos as: a kind of (concentration camp).
(we're on opposing teams.)
i.e., there are instances when, to run away becomes, 'all there really is'

– & it's presupposed so many cried so that We could flitter our russi-fied eyelids (away).
(it's presupposed so many tried, anyway.)

iv. obituary riders

four diminutive skulls on kill-grief-clover.
hibernation's for the hunted.
drones for a funeral

v. cleanshavenviathecraven

hearse fog
we've dialectically miscreant roles to play
nuke'd, bw'd, rapalm'd, bullet'd. for whom.
ghoul-frog saves the dang'd day

perennially speakin' & thinkin' swell of ya'.
whoa sagalicious rat-craw

'twas splat-a-tat-tat' (as opposed to rat).
dialectically reptilian ghouls, to keep at bay.
busybodies play at being busy to play at being kind (come what may).

keen, outta-dah-whirlwind (as the turntable, transmits).

9.4.25

Four Poems by Mark Young

Curriculum Vitae

 

beginning:

 

her father was

an orthopaedic

surgeon, her

mother a relaunched

hippy. both were un-

imaginative. she

grew up

footloose &

fancy free.

 

intermission:

 

patience

wears thin

through prolonged

use. it should be

changed at

least every other

day or

sooner

if you

can’t stand

waiting.

 

end:

 

the night.

the left-over

layers

 

 

A / Pilgrim Father / walks past Mar-a-Lago

 

The granaries are choked

with fervor. Dust spills

& spreads, excludes the sky,

occludes the light. A virtual

night I walk & talk through,

articulated limbs but un-

articulated fears. In some

strange manner I’ve become

 

a reluctant pedestrian on

someone else’s treadmill. Have

found myself, have found

myself to be what I am

most afraid of. Uncertain.

& these are certain times.

 

 

La Carriole du Père Junier

 

A week late I finally

get around to turning

over the calendar. De-

cember in this collection

of loose impressionists

is represented by the

pompous toll-collector,

Le Douanier, Henri

 

Rousseau. It cheers me

up immediately. But what

a waste. My depression

could have been carried

away in Father Junier's

cart seven days ago.

 

 

After Cézanne

 

Two peaches

one orange

two nectarines

four kiwifruit

one green apple

two red apples

 

a white bowl

side table

clear satin varnish

a light burnish of dust.

 

One peach

one nectarine

three kiwifruit

one green apple

one red apple

 

a white bowl

side table

clear satin varnish

fingermarks.

5.4.25

Two Poems by Tim Frank

How to Vote
Fold an injured pigeon
and hurl it at the fridge.
Allow the bird to stagger
down a sewer
made of spoons.
It’ll vote
inside a phone box
for a leader dressed in Brie.
Beware, little children!
freedom is a hoax
a void of faceless blurs.

Heading South 
Satellites are falling
Like frogs
In sand and sweat.
You quote the Psalms
Like Stanley Kubrick
Wearing boxing gloves.
So, choke on your chubby thumbs
Vomit up your pills,
It will take you
Beyond your sickness
To a mind
Heading south.
The sun isn’t yellow it’s chicken,
And it’s so hot
It makes you want to dash
Your skull against the mirror.
Your name is Bob,
Like it always was.