Six poems by Mark Young

A line from Childish Gambino

I count each square. The use
of hemocytometer trypan blue
exclusion tells me which squares
are occupied by something other

than holographic images & which
are able to populated by house-
hold items. Vacancy is everything
in my job. I got furniture to move.


Two geographies:


Be’er Sheva

Back then, working out
where the miracles occurred
was an hallucinogenic night-

mare. Now every full color
44-page bible atlas has clear
plastic overlays of modern-day

cities & towns to permit a seam-
less studio-to-home experience.
It’s called adaptive immunity.


Was to be found hauling
his concertina up Shota
Rustaveli Street. Swallows
swept beneath his feet, in
some kind of toccata &
fugue pattern, dispensed
in the pitter patter plague
proportions that would
later come to be so well
known as the signature
intro to every performance
given by Johann Sebastian
in his Lovin’ Spoonful days.


As it comes

Hitting the cyber streets via
a highly predictable leak
this weekend is an image of
snow on the early flowering

cherry trees in Fukuoka. It
has been co-opted by every-
one from gun rights activists
to fast food chains, in tandem

with the observation that un-
truths are far more easily
swallowed when taken with
a small amount of nectar.

after touring your war museum

The Romans & the Arabs —
oddly & exotically — built
seaside towns filled with
guttered fields for grow-
ing rice in. But ever since
gift shops destroyed those
first attempts & allowed the
bubonic plague entry into

Europe, the principle of
asymmetry no longer holds.
Flags may be flown at night
only when fish or ducks or
any other actor in the economy
is suffering from a food allergy.

Grace note

What do we write about
at the beginning, at the end?

Two periods of fifteen years.
Twenty-five years of silence

in between. Began by writing
about lizards. Have come

back to them again. Outlived
the earlier ones. The later ones

will probably outlive me. What
is the angle of a turning circle?


The motel pool

The atrium is full of
canaries, & many men
in Armani suits & pointy-
toe shoes. Florentine is
big this year, alongside
fishing shirts & sweet
potato fries. A car
drives slowly along the
street. The canaries re-
cite poems in chorus
in Tibetan whilst a
black-hat lama does
a simultaneous trans-
lation. The words inter-
sect to make a third
poem, which is what I
am interested in. Children
walk their grandparents.
A group of new mothers
arrive dressed all in black,
almost as if they have con-
fused birth with death.
Emphasis is added for
emphasis. Avocados are
severely overrated.


Mark Young lives in a small town in North Queensland in Australia, & has been publishing poetry since 1959. He is the author of around fifty 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 The Word Factory: a miscellany, from gradient books of Finland; The Perfume of The Abyss from Moria Books; & A Vicarious Life — the backing tracks from otata. Due out later this year are Residual sonnets from Ma Press & taxonomic drift from Luna Bisonte Prods.

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