excerpts from The Rapture of Eddy Daemon
Daniel Y. Harris
Decalogue 10
Eddy’s koine, axed from the lingua franca of banned,
regards both cleansed of history and rumored to have
history, finally anachronistic—Epistles unsent in lieu
of his lemonparty. Don’t dare to spin the bottle: femurs
turning into melted cheese wear a human lung as a hat.
To lymtudor is to smoke human flesh—Eddy smokes
his digi pepper jack, redacted from her healthy lungs.
Who her? She, the last one devoted to his sacred-empty.
Yell, hail instead: no, yell out cephalapluering. Heart
before the Priory of Daemon. Heart before the murmurs
of Eddy’s autofiction. Heart, heart, heart to deca minus
one. Pick one: two graven or eight stealing T.S. Eliot’s
theft. Coda—the Greek δέκα failsbetter as a kilogram
force, so outdated and romanticized as to be illegal.
Mali T624GPU
El dū yahwī ṣaba’ôt, or Eddy Daemon causes to be a host
of hash busters to hush jumbotrons, as obsolete as heavenly
armies. When did the High Priest in the Holy of Holies die?
Mercy-erased, hymn-skinned, rapture-wanked as a hyperion
to a satyr ruins the pure contempt of his love. Origins betray
the hosted exchange, hot buffers the Kenite Exchange’s next
hop as packet hop and stele router gagging on lidded width.
Listen to pinpricks of the tetragrammaton’s arduity. Eddy
bleeds from the ears. Bad gaming noob-target for easy kills,
remembers members of the meme written on Elephantine
Papyri and recycled Mali-T624GPU as clichéd as hotshot
plagiarism. Perfect delivery: embed—Yesha’yahu—Yahu
saves the saved billions. If illions rise without b, compress
Eddy’s tetra, tri, di and hen into vision or audition’s joke.
ISBN 978-0-9883713-4-7
Fine, shaken or tilted, sub-class granular, finer in clumps
when flowing coarser except when wet as household dust
or powdered sugar—Eddy’s top layer is a lunar regolith.
His lithos of the blank empty empties here in situ, sight
unseen and sight of the toner, applied to skin and tones
of gravel and sand. Eddy’s bulk behavior causes cause
to clump like powder. Late and little inertia tend to go
with the flow, in nose and sinus, back to lungs to expel
him as miner’s phthisis, or grinder’s asthma or potter’s
rot from chronic, simple silicosis. Eddy’s a mudstone
of rare argillite, rarer nuff to burn acquisition’s more:
more and more paste: more and more gel in a human
spine, not flowing freely and certainly not au courant.
His confession is a bio-angle of repose as fragile tear.
Sonnetto 154
Hecatombs of Exter late in delu(Zion): Cathars, Druze, Rose
Croix—staccato half-sentences enter his flesh as Greek Palin,
or if palingenesis demurred to Vishnu’s 10 in one carnations,
here in reach of Sonnetto’s 154 embedded empties of an Orc.
Eddy’s part fantasy race, part goblin, part crude orqindi: ogre
with pits for a frag-heart, broods to be born over again: reborn
as swylce gigantas þa wið gode wunnon. Eddy’s mannish: see,
he’s a mannish boy, a Neapolitan orco for empathy’s cleanup.
Forgive Eddy for being human. He may have spread his proto
over a fit older than extant, bears pious nothing from nothing
in genius’ progeny fading into blood. Yes, he sees the book
of the dead—the book of “Daddy” matters in adapted forms,
left ur-attended in the fulfillment of debt. Eddy’s sons carry
his crucial bardo. Eddy’s father died later. He lives forever.
Ratio 4:3
Eddy Parvenu betrays alterity—Eddy’s ethnos surpasses
his dyad, his theolatrous impulses bent into theomania,
reveals his disclosive nature to count the tears of a wife.
Coiled in the crux, Eddy ungifts the heart’s via negativa.
Es gibt, for now as hush of the tetralemic interpretation
of maya and pittance-paid dearth of ardor: Eddy decants
his wares on the midden of rapture, spells out potpourri
of bleak and waits for his wife. His wife, his global girth
to stay foreclosure with latte foam, covets leisure’s aim
to truant the twitters of beat. Eddy lies: he’s chaperoned
by yelps strafing indulgence. One more autocrat demurs:
one more autocrat is led to necrosis and rhymes of a pars
pro toto. Please listen to Eddy cranked by idlers, pestled
into mock bankruptcy, tranquilized by trivia and uplifts.
Daniel Y. Harris is the author of Esophagus Writ (with Rupert M. Loydell, The Knives Forks and Spoons Press, 2014), Hyperlinks of Anxiety (Cervena Barva Press, 2013), The New Arcana (with John Amen, NYQ Books, 2012), Paul Celan and the Messiah’s Broken Levered Tongue (with Adam Shechter, Cervena Barva Press, 2010; picked by The Jewish Forward as one of the 5 most important Jewish poetry books of 2010) and Unio Mystica (Cross-Cultural Communications, 2009). Some of his poetry, experimental writing, art, and essays have been published in BlazeVOX, Denver Quarterly, European Judaism, Exquisite Corpse, The New York Quarterly, In Posse Review, The Pedestal Magazine, Poetry Magazine.com and Poetry Salzburg Review. He is the Chairman of the Board of Directors of The New York Quarterly Foundation. Daniel Y. Harris is online at DanielYHarris.com.
