five sonnets from
The Rapture of Eddy Daemon
Daniel Y. Harris
X-Peri 5.0
Eddy’s minions mark th-5period—ife, a forWurn
of anic root da. Dr. Abyssjumper, I presume, sub
to the threshold of a pastry coque? Hola Wassily,
are you the Sode? No, Kemosabe, only a (bi) Epi
of Sode is here to bear witness to th-5period. Me,
you putrefaction, me? I’m just torted. Eddy’s gut
is lick not tort. C’est de moi qu’il s’agit dans ce
portrait. One months later, X-Peri devours th-5p.
Dead are the rating scales. Dead are confessions.
Dead is the place of was. Lives R. Mutt aroused
by Rrose Sélavy, five she-puns of lust, sucking
on cubes of sugar and marble. Sepiidae, my pet,
drain my mania to oops. Eddy depends on you,
or the leather jackets of his ur-sexed destroyer.
Bunjie 5.1
Now, a Commedia all’improviso of Eddy “Bunjie”
Daemon and his kilowattage specs—kitchen-rigged
shivs with the b/bells of the stock detachable Punch,
grossly exaggerated as A.c/K jongleurs with a beak
nose. Knee-slap his acromegaly, d/R.essed in black
with rasp and swazzle. No tantrums, mate, of facial
isometrics. Carry around macaroni, wooden spoons
and peaked hats in your manpurse. He squirm zanni.
He publics the raw, unalloyed, agendaless kindness.
Click on the lowered center of gravity, back arched,
knees bent, toes pointed. Then re/Vide—hY.phenate.
Elbows, ladies, arms half lifted like a zanni jubilant.
Dear Bunjie, take a sonnet or gut the intox of cated.
We of pancreatitis-flare, keep the burlas of Q.Judy.
Orb 5.2
Eddy weds the Ir/weD.ded Irene of Thessaloniki. Licinius
couples the core of a cold-fusion ring. The Father broken
in pieces, reassembles as a lithioid. St. Seraphim of Sarov
begs the dramaturgy. Penelope’s beauty is hydrocephalic
in heavy rinds of ancient flesh. She is trampled by horses,
wifi laced behind her head. Suffer the dread miracle, the
atrophic neck of divine heads. Thousands convert. Graves
are found emptied of gravestones. She never died. Come
on down and ad-lib the cachectic. She does little to settle
into sulcus. Why would she, when the creator’s right hand
is stained? Ed.D.y’s a Facebook like in Saint Irene. She’s
a somnambulist in the 4th century of 2015. An idol father
lives again in the blurred ellipse of subways, raised back
to life by the aptize rayer. Fantods chant as she walks up.
Pook 5.3
Gloria in excelsis deo, doxo of angels, has overturned
the hat. A handsome zombie as a Nosferatu hottie? It
picks a noir of idiotici. The card’s lyric te duem, now
relives as phos. Caper less than expect living to serve
and dissect. Frustum-shaped? No, just a vetus, hearing
the leaking of lysergics. I love the elongated babble. I,
the She of Goof, stand cradling the broom of terra pax.
Hear the sung rubric, spirit free to projectile vomit the
less-than-easy submitted down-double of no reprieve.
How about those lented votives of confession? Write
the prepare. These caulked Paragons of Insincere. Yes,
because a party is a awake to dangle vivids. She press
an Eddy Common. She rather prefer to all-include. No,
to balk vacuums. Yes, to u.BiNgE ego’s real goodbye.
Te./po 5.4
Eddy hums the teppered beauty pageant, the rayonnant
of rose windows—he the bellitas, he the Bunjie Jumper
of the Abyss. He.bellus—he, the hair style of M.EtIc.S.
His skin is almond, lily, cumin—the honeyed lime soap
of male lipstick. Eddy wanders in femme. Golden ratios
become taut with iodine and bromide. Drama aims for
virility, the virility of the su.Bl.im/e—soft, licked: make
her ache for the last M.an. The index and thumb of here
charisma, skin smooth, overlaid with the waist-hip ratio.
Hourglass figures are poles abutting pubis and breasts.
These eye-corners of climax—these flexing pectorals:
mO.re/Ye.t to.Com.E for Eddy’s divine us. Susanna.l.
ot.U/s as Susan of Inshushinak from the root שוש, bean
of nucifera, lakebed and water garden, humming ower.
Daniel Y. Harris is the author of The Underworld of Lesser Degrees (NYQ Books, 2015), 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, E·ratio, European Judaism, Exquisite Corpse, The New York Quarterly, In Posse Review, The Pedestal Magazine, Poetry Magazine, Poetry Salzburg Review and Ygdrasil. He is the past president of NYQ and the editor-in-chief of X-Peri.
