Thursday, August 05, 2004

NEW! Mark Lamoureux poems

Mark Lamoureux

Three poems from "Astrometry Organon"


I wait for a voice like rain
on an umbrella, the silver April weather
rushing like molten glass to
the speaking fissure where harp
strings stretch as sutures, solemn
& the white darts fall
where they may--a dark face
backlit, harboring the terror
of words: burns eyes when read
this necronomicon my heart holds
burnished secrets, my poison
idols: a little ghost
collects in the damp lamplight the green
hairs on my barren arms make a banyan
tree. Some wasted thing, a letter
in a bottle in the hull of
the Flying Dutchman: tiny metal balls
in the bloodstream are all that's
left of that adventurer, no dry
season, a shadow tells a story
to the votive candle: I might've forgot
myself in you, remember my arms
as if they were alive, a cage wrought
with jade holds a canary face-
up, I named this constellation
for you before all
those suns went out


The heat is her &
it hurts me.


caught in this
black jade loop:

polar memory,
the shoals' air

off her sandal-blood &
the machete-
colored unsheathed

months made
of mealy apples,

helmets, dangling
arraigning arcs for

I hid it in
my sleeve, scatter
ashes or salt

behind the hydraulic
equipment, the swollen
a plastic tongue

pulls you down
to the weak earth,
the weaker sky,
the weakest of
all my darling you
are paper-pulp,
you are a stickbug's

leg that breaks
in the goddamn


Futurist bulb of an office box
shines its red robot vampire
eyes between the old shaman-
rattles of the trees;

when that midnight & its
kooky horses come-
th in the night of the comet, of
comely daggers--well or in
come said horses, the horses'
daggers, that midnight &
its robots, its lonely trees,

its merlot spit--unkempt spirit: Speedy
Gonzalez, enter the gnomes
with the dawn, fat bakers come
with the bacon &

the only remnant of that other life is
those dead spoons dang-
ling from their noses.

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