Many Poems by Andrew Demcak


Markovian Parallax Denigrate

The random manifestation of words: an open cipher, a steganographic code, or an Internet numbers station? jitterbugging break caw Newtonian inferring update collaborate rue sportswriting rococo invocate air tousled shadeflower. Judging by the subject line, the method employs Markov chains, language parsing, and synthetic intelligence. pathogenesis escritoire novo adventitious most chairperson different pinpoint dunk pendant firelight Pluto. Usenet, August 5, 1996, two arbitrarily-selected senders “Eric Inhale” and “Glyceride,” screens and pages amounting to thousands of e-mail messages with the same timestamp. episodic medicine ditty crag flogging variac brotherhood file impromptu countenance inheritance. If Markovian, the communiqué was a signal spies use, the veiled string of numbers, NATO alphabets threaded in the prehistory of Internet. cohesion yaw refrigerate morphine napkin inland nameable yearbook hark.
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The Crawfordsville Monster

There is more to me playing it silent. Infinitesimal and diminishing, the dead boy’s last words came. I guessed that he was missing. Who would believe what I saw and not accuse me? It was a beast of no conscience, a flat, oozing creature that resembled a huge amoeba, hovering above the new electric streetlamps. Side wings pumping, its harried mouth wrapped up the delivery boy.

I am bound to report the visible. The creature flapped in front of me like a pale flag. It gave a deep squirm as it fell upon the child who suffered unutterable agony. The great shroud fit itself over the struggling body, pulling him between its lips with propelling fins and masticated him.

Retribution? There was no tail or head, but it blinked its flaming eyes. I could never explain away what happened to the kid, express a hapless excuse. But it wasn’t me. That wheezing, plaintive sound as the fiend was eating. Who sifted facts for the truth, if that someone wasn’t me, my brother? Those judges would condemn me; sent to jail by narrow means of one mother’s sobbing grief. But I’m innocent.
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Las Caras de Bélmez

Allow yourself to focus on the parquet, 1971, in Jaén, Spain. Analyze the molecular changes in the concrete surface: vague suggestions of eyes, a grin appearing, tan skin on the kitchen floor, sensitive, alive as photographic paper; the afterlife’s news developing like fresh chromium. The handprint spontaneously formed in the tiling, soiled and soaked. Witness this in half-light from the windows. Watch your damp footsteps. Observe the woman beneath your sneakers: erotic, her strong figure, as she leans forward, her forearms bleeding faintly, aching, almost alive.
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The Toy-Box Killer

Understanding is not an antidote. Acknowledge the pig-iron slave collar and exam table nearby where I am padlocked. Today lurches forward on silver pulleys, straps, and flesh clamps. My thighs brushed back, being bodily again, beneath spreader bars, the surgical blades. The youthful man descends, asserts his hands upon me, crossing, pressing.

-Who would he be, himself?

In the corner rests someone’s meaningless jacket coiled around
a high-heeled shoe. Surge of suffering. He offers me a fist from far across the room. A hidden eyelid swings closed. Perhaps he has a thought, a feeling.

-She is not enough for me.

My sodden heap, my flesh, bruises mooning. In vain, one life collected, secret. To him, this workbench is no different from me. His gaze, gleaming, shifts. No bodies were ever found, here, in Truth or Consequences, New Mexico.
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Orgonomy

Orgone is blue: raw as the formation of galaxies, of sexuality. Whispers between ions, bristle of bits. Its energy via particulate matter spreading a shoreline. The riptide radiates in the drift of a buoy bell. Those schooners with painted sails at landfall. One flock of sea geese tarries in the weeds. Cold water pushes the azure rushes. Scallop shells remiss. The dark cove alive with the scoot of multitudinous schools. Trumpets of anemones, pale as cocks, diluvian, barnacled like love.

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Andrew Demcak is an award-winning poet and novelist whose work has been widely published and anthologized both in print and on-line, and whose books have been featured at Verse Daily, The Lambda Literary Foundation, The Best American Poetry blog, and Oranges & Sardines. His fourth book of poetry, Night Chant, was published by Lethe Press, 2011. His other poetry books are: A Single Hurt Color, GOSS 183::Casa Menendez Press, 2010, Zero Summer, BlazeVOX [Books], NY, 2009 and his first poetry book, Catching Tigers in Red Weather, three candles press, 2007, that was selected by Joan Larkin to win the Three Candles Press Open Book Award. When he is not hard at work as a Children’s Librarian in Oakland, CA, he can be found eating okonomiyaki at Japantown in San Francisco.