Poems by Mark Young

BROADCAST NOISE

Not shot full of skittering beasts
said someone — or was it beats? Or
was it the Titanic that really sank
or some similar sister ship? & why
are ships considered female? Com-
plexities of the English language
supposes one source, though sauce
for the goose should also be until
the chauvinists ride into town to
say the magnificent Bismarck will
always be a male. Which is why it
was able to be severely damaged,
weighed down by an exaggerated
penile structure that was meant to
frighten attackers away but instead
had the gulls screaming once more
onto the beach in a comic accent
that had its roots in Wagnerian op
art campfire singalongs. So much
potential, but all that meat & no
potatoes as the fat swallow used
to say means nobody's really inter-
ested in trying to sift the solids out
of this raucous collideascope of raw
noise that's being endlessly broad-
cast from every orifice that we are
surrounded by & surrendered unto.


& EVERYBODY KNEW WHICH WAY THE WIND BLEW
(an acrostic for the day)

Weathervanes used to be a sign of nobil-
ity until Dylan came along & said "you don't
need a weathervane to know which way
the wind blows." Or something like that.
Even then, even after the harmonica stopped
resonating, even after this unsubtle &
savage putdown of the ruling class, their
own idea of self-worth, self-fueled most

likely, kept their beliefs intact. Any disdain
stemming from the lower classes could be at-
tributed to their lack of proper education, or
inattention to the precepts of their betters, or
could just be that beauty is not always in the
eye of the beholder. Then the rain arrived.


DESPITE WHICH

Cardamom seedpods lie across the
road leading out of the petrified
forest. The trains have stopped
running; & small birds are now
the carriers of freight, employed




to take away any detritus of em-
pire that still remains. Back into
the forest, following any one of
several flight paths that weave a
way through trunks & branches

that lead in many directions. Then
they disappear from sight — &
that is the last time the relics are
ever seen. But some hours later
the birds reappear, flying down

the road, each with a seedpod in
their beak which is dropped onto
the road below as they emerge out
into the open. Obviously payment
for their task, but from & for whom?