Mark Young, excerpts from Residual Sonnets

King N. Epal’s Organophosphates, image by Daniel Y. Harris 

excerpts from Residual Sonnets  

Sect

In his first public statement

since taking an unknown

dose of organophosphate

insecticide, the King of Nepal

said that he was struck speech-

less by the notation, fingering,

& keyboard diagrams under-

lying the stylistic aspects

of the artwork of Wassily

Kandinsky. How by the

removal of one element of cDNA

they could be used as a sex-

pheromone trap to lure blood-

sucking pests to their deaths.

Shrinking ad budgets

Were there any persons of color —

apart from those who wanted to

spend a fortune on antique French

Furniture or a brown Lolita dress

which featured ruffles on the hem —

in any of the traveler reviews &

photos for the hotel? Extremely

complex chromatograms are often

very difficult to interpret. Better to

use Art Deco fortune telling cards.

They produce fast, deep colors

on cottons when the velocity μx

is null, & are easily obtained at

your local sheet & duvet store.

—Mark Young

Mark Young’s most recent book is les échiquiers effrontés, a collection of surrealist visual poems laid out on chessboard grids, just published by Luna Bisonte Prods. Due out later this year is The Word Factory: a miscellany, from gradient books of Finland, & an e-book, A Vicarious Life — the backing tracks, from otata.

Rose Knapp, Americas’ Lotus Easters

L’Amour Fou for Daeæscmons Salut 

image by Daniel Y. Harris 

Americas’ Lotus Easters 

Dissociated Dome of the Rock

Seth sets Lokis’ form intoquicksand 

Renaissance melodies masquerade 

Glass pyramids tessellate modality 

Baroqueballroombackhallalleycats 

Silver bracelets hover distorted

On my slightly slit wrists Akiko 

Akhenaten Sakutarō Hagiwara

حج hajj sphinx riddles slip seep 

Gnawing their ways through 

Wastelands theoretical heretical 

Black bone marrow splits open

Clouds have known no Avila

Pietà Jihad domed apparitions 

Jinxed Judith Jupiters’ red moons

Blood Scatting jazz and power 

Pulsing from Mecca mechanically

I catch it in the deserted LA night

Streets gaze at the cube 

Hovering there as if it was a Borgia

I slit one ghostly ghazal 

In its' side admirecutstonemarble

Watch as pieces of Eden

Free fall flittering shards of Mani 

Voltaic Visions

Lightning lashes laconic 

Across LA sky lines [frag 

Ment]cius mists drift down

Sifting over clout cashflows

Running into Hollywood

Data rushing DTLA tar

Split sieves Sycophantic

Cores encapsulated 

By choruses of chaos

Sprawl surrounding

Glazed over teal 

Eyes peering over 

Verbatim Verses 

Peeling petrified 

Latin words out

Of silken air the

Silent stills whisper

Midway lais lapis ruby Isis glares

Catatonic Laüstic cat velaric clāvis

White slashes of piercing castrating noise

Prostrates its’ acrolect ascetic ink dashes in emblazoning altars

Ἡρόδοτος’ ἱστορία Gregorian Antipater patois basilectalization

Hexehedral of Our Lady

Of Angels Thien Hau 

Templeless Mazu sakuras 

Subtle Fragrant tapestries

Of decadent domine decay

Incense burns sentiente é nonsense 

Bisclavret Daeæscmons salut one

An other on In---Concrète 

Slabaths wordsseparating 

Hallowed spaces

Outside Taoist 

Catholic Uni(vision)

Studios temples 

I watch the endless

Blazing pile of books

Blacks and unborn 

(Lucky bastards

And a superstitious 

Black man preaching)

Bête noire noir Alpha 

Et tu wonder at times

Why noir means black

Nègre negative filmstrip 

Lit--//Nile Grime Crime 

Anagram\\Règne Rene

Changeling Dao De Jing Channeling

Pure ecstatic noise

Screeches nails on a Nazis’

Crosswalk straight central

Zeitgeist please don't press Pound 

On a chalk 0...0 outline Ouija

Touché 

Cafe ceremony 

Static bounds only 

Know pathetic Kantian

Reasons Pauline Words

Pulverize themselves into

Perversity for perpetuity 

Evaporates intolerable

Scats as only black

Things can appari

Tion iron lion Leon 

Nonsense nous non

Hope non change non

[Post] Commentary Waste Lands

[Cantos] Chanticleers Changelings

Lamplit night clearcuts tourists diptych past bright red-gold brushed kitsch Shanghai sillsjaded kimonos

Flutter on mannequins gawking in aviators shade 妖怪 spirits harmonized in calligraphicflute notes   

Purity splitting deranged dreamscapes 

Debased borderlines déflorer Decatur florescent

Decanters deconstructing flâneuses 

—Rose Knapp

Nathan Spoon & Tom C. Hunley, An Exhalation of Springheads

 Misinformed Genie 

(acrylic and paper on canvas; 8 x 10 inches) 

image by Nathan Spoon

An Exhalation of Springheads

The hungry sheep look up, and are not fed…

                                   ―John Milton

In the beginning, a single cell divides

itself, becoming two cells in symbiosis,

giving a third dimension to words spoken

(once written), like Cerberus with an extra

serpentine pair of eyes gazing into

ambient spaces, until it becomes clear

that three times two is six and two

more is a new plant leafing itself into

a row of jelly bean-colored houses,

along the water running through

Burano, Italy, I can’t get those

figureheads off my bed. Or off

the walls! My forehead has grown

embarrassingly smaller than yours,

whoever you may be. I designed a labyrinth

to thrive inside and I hid the prototype

underneath a stone near my outdoor plants –

also embarrassingly smaller than yours.

Now, from a bottom corner of the canvas,

nymphs are sprinkling leaves on my head

which is secretly hosting a hive of bees.

I’m making honey and a movie trailer.

The honey is sweet, and it sticks to bones.

If you like the trailer, I’ll make the movie,

which will make you love me doubly, love me

two times two divided by our unruly, wayward

children. Fractious, if passages can wind

into abysses blank as frozen zaffer,

as the trees give rise to a hive by leaning,

finally, into Hell. I like being wayward

and drifting drunkenly in a boat copied

and pasted onto the river Styx. This is what

happens after spending more than two hundred

billable hours kicking up extra dopamine with

other runners. Suddenly you are accidental besties

with people who were probably antelopes

in recent lifetimes! Tomorrow I’ll peel

away from work and visit Mansard.

The place is a marsh and isn’t a marsh

mostly as unassuming as Westhaven?

Let’s say I’m a map and you’re “You are here” and someone

else, we don’t know who, is lost and needs our help.

When the planet is sleeping inside

a gigantic piece of Silly Putty,

while Platonic wings emerge on randomized

whims projected from the insides of flowers,

there is something unsayable

(which isn’t being mentioned now) that flashes

from the depths of insentience. It’s beautiful!

―Nathan Spoon & Tom C. Hunley

Nathan Spoon & Colin Winborn, Unaffected by Strong Force

Democracy of Flower

(acrylic and paper on wood; 11 x 14)

image by Nathan Spoon 

Unaffected by Strong Force

detail

i will accomplish nothing. will

  take in joyfully the glow of

    this maple in nov(a).ember while

      thinking about biscuits.

*

am i the failure i have always

  wanted to be. since nothing

    could be worstward.er let,s

      hope? snow is arriving soon.

*

On the page.

          Stars fell.

From the sky. In the night.

                                        Fell as snow.

A page is our heartbeat. A page is our breath.

                    Our blood.

Look now.

Unmeasure. Now this vale.

*

Under a blanket.

                                        Of snow.

          Of stars.

Carrots grow.

                    In earth. Through which.

Worms whistle.

In sightless unison.

retail

from vessel.   you sieve

                

               within             nothing kept from

tomorrow. doing         a domain

bounded through.  to

                         leptons anointing

                      

               a slave mission

fizzy filigree

         

            snatched quantity. of attic

                  

                   blocks

kleptomania up

                   

        braids your hair    still set

                in

               

                my hands

catacombs

        

        are pets

beloved

               ear canals

              call

         

         my vassal

derail

They are tiny. They are few. They are snowflakes.

Pack a horde together in time to blink

                    the world astray.

*

From a lost future: smoke.

Beneath a stone: a

*

Snake. I put the toe of my shoe

behind its head and, gathering it up

between my child’s forefinger

                                   and thumb,

carry it, like a golden rope, home.

Once over the fence and returned

                              to our back yard,

     I return it eagerly to the vatic

*

And grassy ground. Watch it crawl like

a shoestring of imagination. Put

                    the toe of my

                    shoe again behind

                    its head and reached

                    down into the darkness

                    of its impossible

swivel where it struck my

forefinger with its

babycopperhead fangs.

Here: spliced

                    lance-marks.

tail end

which is.

 limbo

                  sent

                        out

    lying. in

what state

           coppice and  

salty waves   -

        gate,

   way    propped

the snow

             this

   blue

horizoning

          no.

vember

     vestige

allows flesh

        a hostage

intuits   bardo           within

                                 limits

    stinting

at                 the

               meat stash      suffers

stares   down

      the alley/    way   inter

                                  ested

               all night

          a hinge    a pivot     i’ll

swing

          by that

―Nathan Spoon & Colin Winborn

Chris Nesti, Memcpy(buffer+nop, shell, strlen(shell))

Memcpy(buffer+nop, shell, strlen(shell)), image by Chris Nesti 

Memcpy(buffer+nop, shell, strlen(shell))

ƨɿɘbluoʜƨ ƨƚi blɘʜɘd I bnɒ ,bɘʞool I bɿɒwqU

ƚɿɒɘʜ ym bɘɔɿɘiq noiƚɒnɿɘƚƨnoɔ ʜƚiw bɒʜ ʜɔiʜW

bɘƚɒnimɿɘƚ yɘllɒv ɘʜƚ ɘɿɘʜw ƚnioq ƚɒʜƚ ƚA

Ƹ ,ƚooʇ ƨ’niɒƚnuom ɒ bɘʜɔɒɘɿ bɒʜ I ɿɘƚʇɒ ƚuᙠ

yɒw ɘuɿƚ ɘʜƚ bɘnobnɒdɒ bɒʜ I ʜɔiʜw nI

ƚnɘmom ɘʜƚ ƚɒ ɿɘdmulƨ ʇo I ƨɒw lluʇ oƧ

bɘɿɘƚnɘ I ɘɿɘʜƚ woʜ ƚɒɘqɘɿ llɘw ƚonnɒɔ I

ɘɿɘʜƚ wɒƨ I ƨǫniʜƚ ɿɘʜƚo ɘʜƚ ʇo I lliw ʞɒɘqƧ

bnuoʇ I ɘɿɘʜƚ ʜɔiʜw ,ƚɒɘɿƚ oƚ booǫ ɘʜƚ ʇo ƚuᙠ

ɘɿom ɘlƚƚil ƨi ʜƚɒɘb ,ƚi ƨi ɿɘƚƚid oƧ

ɿɒɘʇ ɘʜƚ ƨwɘnɘɿ ƚʜǫuoʜƚ yɿɘv ɘʜƚ ni ʜɔiʜW

nɿɘƚƨ bnɒ ,ʜǫuoɿ ,ɘǫɒvɒƨ ƚƨɘɿoʇ ƨiʜƚ ƨɒw ƚɒʜW

yɒƨ oƚ ƨi ƚi ǫniʜƚ ɒ bɿɒʜ woʜ !ɘm ʜA

ƚƨol nɘɘd bɒʜ yɒwʜƚɒq bɿɒwɿoʇƚʜǫiɒɿƚƨ ɘʜƚ ɿoᖷ

ʞɿɒb ƚƨɘɿoʇ ɒ niʜƚiw ʇlɘƨym bnuoʇ I

ɘʇil ɿuo ʇo yɘnɿuoႱ ɘʜƚ noqu YAWᗡIM

ɘniviᗡ ɘvoɘʜƚ ɘmiƚ ƚɒʜw ,ɘɿɘw miʜ ʜƚiw ƚɒʜT

ƨɿɒƚƨ ɘƨoʜƚ ʜƚiw ǫniƚnuom ƨɒw nuƨ ɘʜƚ qu bnA

ǫninɿom ɘʜƚ ʇo ǫninniǫɘd ɘʜƚ ƨɒw ɘmiƚ ɘʜT

bɘnɿuƚ bɒʜ nɿuƚɘɿ oƚ I ƨɘmiƚ ynɒm ƚɒʜT

yɒw ym ʜɔum oƨ ɘbɘqmi bib ɿɘʜƚɒɿ ,yɒИ

ɘɔɒʇ ym ɘɿoʇɘd moɿʇ ɘʜƨ bɘvom ɿɘvɘn bnA

ɿɘ’o bɘɿɘvoɔ ƨɒw niʞƨ bɘƚƚoqƨ ɒ ʜƚiw ʜɔiʜW

ylǫnibɘɘɔxɘ ƚʇiwƨ bnɒ ƚʜǫil ɿɘʜƚnɒq A

nɒǫɘd ƚnɘɔƨɒ ɘʜƚ ɘɿɘʜw ƚƨomlɒ !ol bnA

ɿɘwol ɘʜƚ ƨɒw ɿɘvɘ ƚooʇ mɿiʇ ɘʜƚ ƚɒʜƚ oƧ

ɘqolƨ ƚɿɘƨɘb ɘʜƚ no I bɘmuƨɘɿ yɒw ɘʜT

bɘƚƨɘɿ bɒʜ I ybod yɿɒɘw ym ɿɘƚʇA

ƚʇɘl noƨɿɘq ǫnivil ɒ ƚɘy ɿɘvɘn ʜɔiʜW

ƨƨɒq ɘʜƚ bloʜɘd-ɘɿ oƚ ʞɔɒd ʇlɘƨƚi nɿuT

bɿɒwno ǫniɘɘlʇ ƨɒw lliƚƨ ƚɒʜƚ ,luoƨ ym bib oƧ

ƨɘzɒǫ bnɒ ƨuoliɿɘq ɿɘƚɒw ɘʜƚ oƚ ƨnɿuT

ɘɿoʜƨ ɘʜƚ noqu ɒɘƨ ɘʜƚ moɿʇ bɘuƨƨi ʜƚɿoᖷ

ʜƚɒɘɿd luʇƨƨɘɿƚƨib ʜƚiw ,oʜw ,ɘʜ ƨɒ nɘvɘ bnA

ylƨuoɘƚiq oƨ bɘƨƨɒq bɒʜ I ʜɔiʜw ,ƚʜǫin ɘʜT

ƚuoʜǫuoɿʜƚ bɘɿubnɘ bɒʜ ɘʞɒl ƨ’ƚɿɒɘʜ ym ni ƚɒʜT

bɘƚɘiup ɘlƚƚil ɒ ɿɒɘʇ ɘʜƚ ƨɒw nɘʜT

bɒoɿ yɿɘvɘ yd ƚʜǫiɿ ƨɿɘʜƚo ʜƚɘbɒɘl ʜɔiʜW

ƨyɒɿ ƨ’ƚɘnɒlq ƚɒʜƚ ʜƚiw ybɒɘɿlɒ bɘƚƨɘV

—Chris Nesti