King
Nephilim’s Apostasy, image by Daniel Y. Harris
Excerpt
from The Return of Doom-Headed
Three
Daniel Y.
Harris & Rupert M. Loydell
The
photographs you are taking now
will melt
in the exploding sun.
The
recordings you are making now
sound
like all the others: ash.
There is
nothing new under the sun
and soon
there will be no sun.
We are in
a strange place
and what
was meant to be
will not
be for much longer.
I’ll get
used to your burnt-out eyes.
•
never
puncture the trope never settle for a bricolage
never
unslap the meme never tag us truants
never
repeal squirms never postfix neutrals
never the
counterpart never a capgras delusion
never
long deceased never the limbic system
never
social antipsychotics never about Pozzo or Lucky
never
about neuropsychiatry never about the uncanny
valley
never are
we teutonic knights never as body armor of barflies
never the Fregoli delusion never nociception left of harm
never the
left hand nor the right hand of bit darkness
never
either/or from the basis of ethical behavior
never
lock stock and barrel never combined conundrums
never the law of the excluded middle never noncontradiction
never
addendums never appendices never a coda
never an
introductory essay to offset the plunge
never a
reduction to Victor Eremita in an antique escritoire
never
finally a foundation from which to the launch the narrative
never
bloated beyond resemblance and hint
never
shadowgraphed never refrained
never
unman the tyranny of autopilot
never
unenamored of last acts
never
winded nor fully nubile
never
alone in voices
never ever
never eve
never ev
never e
•
The
Underachievers did everything they wanted to,
which
wasn’t much. The Unstoppable Achievers
made life
difficult for everyone, were always
in the
way, trying something new, making
or doing.
Why didn’t they ever sit down?
The
Over-Achievers were unbearable,
the way
they displayed their prizes
and
medals, the silver cups on the shelves,
framed
certificates on the wall.
What
weren’t they good at? “Dying,
perhaps,”
said Nurse Ratched, flicking air
out of
the syringes. The Unreliable Landlord
looked
the other way and we buried them
with the
Colonel. The Unstoppable Achievers
felt they
did better now, the Underachievers
left the
TV on and we gently suggested
to the
investigation team that it was probably
their
fault, that they were sure to be implicated.
Look at
my qualifications now, the things I
have
achieved. I am a renaissance man!
•
Blank
apostasy: reigns.
Horned
ogres.
These
possessions: heirs.
The Died of Fits
doing
battle
with The Demon of Annihilation.
No human
heads
drink
affect: cause
of seize.
He defends against
the toxic
by pulping
rank.
Jinns
intervene, mediate
in lieu
of suit: these tests of ruin
bring
famine
to the
obese, wake the temple
from
sand-sleep: hives.
R. Apo of
Paic
tilts in
prayer.
Fear-radiance
is prickly
with war
scrolls.
Remember
the nephilim as mock
deluge of
grunt? I remember
standing
over the body.
I
remember paqid and videbamur
sucked
from the vacuum
of Hebrew
and Latin.
Race the
human super
to heels,
flat soles: to pay
a Does the Thing
hurts.
I un-earn
from far away, out,
as progeny
of the Elioud.
Six
fingers per hand,
foot.
Contain me/you in first
witness
of code.
I can’t
resist the obituary:
we
influencers.
Select
the slew. No one else
could
unclean choose
and shed
the blood-fill.
•
Here’s
what to pay: blood money
and 90
per cent of your crop.
No
excuses, no hard-up stories,
no
“what’ll my kids do for breakfast?”
schtick,
just what is demanded.
Never
forget how magnificent we are,
how
hungry for everything, how
erudite,
witty and learned,
despite
all appearances. Dogsbody
is as Dogsbody
does. I wouldn’t
wipe the
floor with him.
But this
time, perhaps, I will.
•
Vintage
stutter to rival Endgame
with Doom Headed Three’s Doomhamm,
Doomclov,
Doomnagg and Doomnell
absent
cameos though quadrilingual
and late
to the launch.
We’ve
been banned from the Doom
Sultan’s
cotillion—how just ugh and omg!
No weak
of mourning for these progenies.
Doom
spawn have no say, even to returning.
We appeal
on their behalf, but they don’t sever
well, nor
evenly. Does Doom Sultan have a name?
Doom
Sultan Brorig Tiara Kcetteb III.
This is
his first and last appearance.
To speak
his name is to be hung
by the
larynx. Screw progenies,
how about
black sheep? Get in line
with all
the other hemizygous.
One of
them will break through,
won’t
they? One among millions
of
diploids, most likely doubling back
through a
moebius. Is our vintage stutter
hopeless?
Will they catch the accomplice,
shifting
here as copycat? Not is our lifetime,
before
the crack and the extended threat.
Daniel Y. Harris is the author of The Underworld of Lesser Degrees (NYQ Books, 2015) Esophagus Writ (with Rupert M. Loydell, The Knives
Forks and Spoons Press, 2014), Hyperlinks
of Anxiety (Cervena Barva
Press, 2013), The New Arcana (with John Amen, NYQ Books, 2012), Paul Celan and the Messiah’s
Broken Levered Tongue (with Adam Shechter, Cervena Barva Press, 2010;
picked by The Jewish Forward as one of the 5 most important Jewish
poetry books of 2010) and Unio
Mystica (Cross-Cultural
Communications, 2009). Some
of his poetry, experimental writing, art, and essays have been published in BlazeVOX, Denver Quarterly, European Judaism,
Exquisite Corpse, The New York Quarterly, In Posse Review, The Pedestal
Magazine, Poetry Magazine.com and Poetry Salzburg Review. He is the Editor-in-Chief of
X-Peri.
Rupert Loydell is Senior Lecturer in
English with Creative Writing at Falmouth University, and the editor of Stride www.stridemagazine.co.uk and With magazines. He is the author of
several collections of poetry, including Wildlife and Ballads
of the Alone both published by Shearsman Books. An artist’s
book-in-a-box, The Tower of Babel,
was recently published by Like This Press; and Encouraging Signs, a book of essays, articles and interviews by
Shearsman. He edited Smartarse for
Knives Forks & Spoons Press, From
Hepworth’s Garden Out: poems about painters and St. Ives for
Shearsman, and Troubles Swapped for
Something Fresh, an anthology of manifestos and unmanifestos, for
Salt. He lives in a creekside village in England with his family and far too
many CDs and books.
