Mark Young, Summer 2017

A deliberate passage

Said slowly they make
the kind of sense
that has us hanging
onto every word. Other-
wise there is too much
otherwise. Other things
do not run this way.
Contrails mean only
that a jet has passed
too high for the eye
to isolate & far too
fast to be anything but
an underline waiting
for words to be written
over it. Hung out to
dry. If written slowly
they do not hang the
way they should, dis-
lodged by the wind
before properly formed.
Make no sense. & we
hang on to none of them.

 

Circus economies

If there were other
entrances to the cage
of the dancing bears
I might not have to
always climb sideways
into this cannon & be
fired in an elliptical arc
towards the trapeze

while the band plays
Bring on the Clowns &
the icebergs melt nowhere
near fast enough to pro-
vide a pool sufficiently
deep to land safely in.

 

The succulent

Even if the same things
seem to keep on
happening over & over
there are differences
to them. Perhaps the
light, or the track
currently playing, or
the way the flowers

at the ends of the stalks
of the succulent in the
hanging basket outside
the window are losing
their color as the life
drains away from them.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Mark Young lives in a small town in North Queensland in Australia, & has been publishing poetry for almost sixty years. He is the author of over forty books, primarily text poetry but also including speculative fiction, vispo, & art history. His work has been widely anthologized, & his essays & poetry translated into a number of languages. His most recent books are Ley Lines & bricolage, both from gradient books of Finland, The Chorus of the Sphinxes, from Moria Books in Chicago, & some more strange meteorites, from Meritage & i.e. Press, California / New York.

Promote. Poetry.
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