Catafalque embroidery

(Baudelaire’s) collapse occurred as he was praising the elaborate
confessionals of the church, the interior of which he had
earlier described as a “terrible & delightful catafalque.”
Félicien Rops: Baudelaire & skeleton passions

Two rows of crowned kings & queens
are depicted on cloth of gold & yellow
silk on black velvet. These can be changed
to similar designs at no extra cost. The

coffin holder is made of sturdy solid wal-
nut. Two easels, one at each end, complete
the set. It’s perfect for any occasion, made
even more attractive by inlaid images of

skeletons that imitate those that are evoked
in Baudelaire’s Les Épaves, a book that in-
cluded several poems banned from Les
Fleurs du Mal. Published in Brussels where

he had escaped to, even though he hated
Belgium, because his creditors could not
follow. Much alcohol, opium, poverty; &
then the stroke that presaged his death.

Life on the High Cs

When run through any English-
Icelandic translation app, the
atomic hypothesis & its concept
of cloud comes out resembling

a gothic horror screenplay. No
consideration for classical theory.
No sensitivity toward sociological
phenomena. Persons under the

age of twenty are included only
if they play in a Southern U.S.
university marching band or a
Marine Drum & Bugle Corps.

Topaz endeavours

It is a capricious, not auspicious,
beginning. I have forgotten how
to genuflect; & when I go to look
it up, I am greeted by “No inform-
ation is available for this page.” I
deliberately chose capricious as the
descriptor: in this time of kings, I
am afraid of what might happen

to me if I do not bend the knee to
the cabal that rules. So many acts
of baseless retribution in the air
one cannot help but smell them.
Or is it the scent of fear that swirls
around me, moving inside to out.

Buck / Rogers in / the 25th Century

Everybody in the coffee shop today
looks like someone else. The only
problem is that the people they
look like are all dead — relations,
mothers of friends, famous faces.
I am in a room full of ghosts who I
cannot see through. Then they speak
to me & I cannot hear their words.

The average age, I’m guessing, is
in the late 70s. Then I leave, & that
drops it below 70. They mutter to
themselves as I pass by, & I can
read the vibrations of their moving
lips. “Who was that masked man?”

Mark Young was born in Aotearoa / New Zealand but now lives in a small town in North Queensland in Australia. He has been publishing poetry for over sixty-five years, & is the author of around eighty books, primarily text poetry but also including speculative fiction, vispo, non-fiction, art history, & an artist’s book. Recent books are Balance, from Neo-Mimeo Editions, Nualláin House, Monte Rio, California & From the Cave’s jukebox, from Sandy Press, Santa Barbara, California. A new collection, synecdoche, came out from Sandy Press in mid-April.

You can find more of Mark’s work here on Ink Pantry.