27.6.24

Four Poems by Mark Young

He’s Beginning to Disappear

 

Subtle but inescapable. The small

things vanish first — a few eye-

lashes, a corner of one shoulder.

 

But they're not the critical items.

Those are kept in the minds of other

people, in their memory banks; &

 

it's there that erasure occurs, some-

times gradual, sometimes rapid,

always inexorable. Comes a time

 

when your best friend today turns

to another BFT & asks them: who's

this person that you're talking about?

 

 

A line from Buster Keaton

 

A small tube, with a tiny camera

attached, is inserted into an incision

filled with acrylic shavings & tur-

quoise chips made from artificial

 

stones. Purified kraft lignin permits

its adherence to untreated fabric —

an alternative to using glue which

would tear that camera to pieces. "Why

 

is this all being done in my name? I did-

n’t ask for it." "But it’s done as a homage

to you, a song of praise for that — isn’t it? —

bedpan humor you’re renowned for."

 

 

another / poem from / the spam box

 

Fortunately, your money has been reviewed.

Your new assistant's trade was executed pleasantly.

Recuperate your prevalent ID profile, liberally check.

 

Your yearly plan will after a short time go into results.

The got demand bill has been charged no further.

 

We esteem your deeply grounded legitimacy in the eyes.

Assuming no one really cares either way, practice in-

dustriousness while your demise request is inspected.

 

 

Surveillance astrolabes

 

In this rapidly evolving digital land-

scape, buying more than the necessary

 

amount of needed items simply says

you care less about saving money &/or

 

saving the planet than seizing each &

every opportunity to demonstrate how

 

important conspicuous consumption has

become in validating your way of life.

19.6.24

Five Poems by Brian Le Lay

Sun Gulp Residue

We land for smoke
in a horizontal secret
& find our private floatiness

snow reaching to a parcel of doubt,
transported from its parent forest
despite appearances
of approximate heat

Avail the universe in which,
smoked in a horizontal secret,
we find a walnut.

Furnish the field of vegetable life:
moss & porphyry,
unpeopled sea.


Surgeon to the Forests

I have been led away
to fuse a glove of vines

away from you

a kettle's moon
from cold brother motion,

his sail light & fluffy

I write you now
in a moment of down
to maintain the song of your cat

I have kept to the marrow
recompense myself
again to sleep

away from you

Stomach among my art
for a few hanging apples,
governed by your noon.


Miss Yamaguchi's Hat

A new
blue hat

under
which to

watch
the wheel

whine in
attempt,

bag full
of apples,

advents
feed on

ink, lead
us along

drifts by
a collar

of snow
across

a healthy
red street

to last &
first sleep.


Raisin Pips

obsolete seats followed supper
through unkindness bouquet.

raisin pips that rid ——— of much guest,
without overshoes foundation

last resentments laid upon a napkin crane
much character in young punch

ribboned royal players
carp with able hangmen

—oh you of most principle
feted with joie de vivre

Third expedient think


Decaying Vistas

birthing photon
o mangy afterglow

larval emulsions flout
glacial tailwind

foreplay no awake
for awake mister

terrestrial paleface
must have crevassed

alkaloid upon my
gaze hunger

in biomechanical
fling of peekaboo

15.6.24

Two Poems by Zoe Grace Marquedant

tanka for driving through a heatwave

summer and shelter
melt into a neon river
the parking structure awning
cherished and welcome
as this roadside ice cream stand

tanka during storm warnings  
 
move home, a return
a river running backward
inverse of nature
to land marked as “no trespass”
red-eyed radio towers