One Man's Mosaic

One Man’s

Mosaic

Nathaniel S.
Rounds

© MMXV
Nathaniel S. Rounds
Published by Fowlpox Press

ISBN: 978-1-927593-44-8

One Man’s

Mosaic

Nathaniel S.
Rounds

Dedicated to Marah

Shechorah, my life
companion and

soulmate. Now beat
it.

σиє мαи'ѕ мσѕαι¢

ȚÄĶË ĊȞÄÏŖŚ ȚÖ

ĊĻÖȚȞÏŅĠ/ ŴȞËŅ

ĻÖŮŅĠËŚ ĻÖVË ȚÖ ĻÖÏȚËŖ/

BËĊÄŮŚË PŖÏŅĊËŚ ȞŮŅȚ

Sajji Outré / struggled for years from
recurrent fecal nodosum / subclinical
inflammatory sputum production /
boggy subungal diarrhea / and one
mother of an oedipus complex / He
invented a riot shield powered by
clockwork / It doubled as a weight loss
program and boasted an on-board
dictionary

ρµℓℓɨɲǥ ¥๏µя яɨ˅€я/ ɨ
ɨʍąǥɨɲ€ď ¥๏µя βąяβ€я$/
β€$ɨď€ ¥๏µя ʍ๏ɲ€¥

We regret to announce the death of
Sajji Outré, who on the 2nd of
February of this year was randomly
stabbed by bears. This unfortunate
incident occurred in a slightly
distressed Buick Skylark at
Beachcomber Campground, Cape May,
NJ. Sajji Outré is survived by a
houseplant and two Hungry Man
frozen dinners. The body will be
cremated and turned into faux
diamond rings, per Outré's written
instructions. A funeral service will be
held at the Blue Bell Halfway House
at noon Tuesday, with free coffee and
needles to follow.



Why does lithe

Sergei Sergeyevich

Prokofiev advertise

the efficacious wax?

Amazing Nolan Joshua Boon rose
from his cowhide chair –a gift from a
great aunt—to tease and entertain a
distant cousin and renowned, socialist
tiger. In the corner of the courtyard,
five cricket balls of various levels of
quality and size (some from a humble
little store, the others from a well-
considered sports chain) were thrown
against a neglected, thermonuclear
frost-compound within an evanescent
sponge that had been nailed to a wall.
Nolan Joshua Boon entered in a low-
key lope, affecting a disinterested
style. Meanwhile, four blocks away, a
makeshift project strategist was
digging with his gloved hands into a
garbage bin to find absolutely
anything related to the life, thoughts
or even bowel movements of a certain
archaist who holds the respect of the
world. One has to wonder: Why won't
this warrior panacea overlap without
Amazing Nolan Joshua Boon?

Destination vanity

Pink
Explosive
Cream
Tooth
Salsa

Destroyer chopsticks fly
Thinking
Miss
Glade
Over junior bun snipers
Caged
Soul
Sore

Offshore
Usable
Organs
Swear on spooky playground
Thunder
Rotating
Unearthly

Subdivision Overview

Dangerous donut warriors
Defer to
Rainstorm in the suburbs

In a forgotten cul-de-sac
At the edge of town

Blue feathers and Spanish leather
Decorate this witness to
Owl giving warning of a certain,
Nebulous
Albatross hanging over the sky
Scuff wanting lasso
Elegant avocados
Perilous arched weeds

The artist with the double burden
Of being a citizen of the world
And a citizen of the soul
Will see you now

You will commission an image
Not so much your likeness
As the rosy surface of your facade

While frozen in repose
You will continue to lose bon mots
To carelessness in deep pile shag
Painted
As the cultured cowboy cause celebre
Of your split level castle
In these gated, jaded burbs

L♡vonomical L♡ve

Not since the golden age of
vacuum cleaner folklore have I
heard such powerful lyrics as
contained in a song that played
over a bathroom intercom at a
now-closed, Chinese restaurant,
some kind of Afro-Cuban tailgate
Gamelan song of mourning in
Eskimo Tectonic (North America)
scale, and it was sort of catchy. It
was called L♡vonomical L♡ve with
lyric authorship shared by Eyemo
Cachexy and Dai Dop Woey, who
had a band called Wolf Soul Train
Dust. They wrote the song as a
weight loss warning for the back of
a saline nasal spray that was
originally designed to kill nose
worms. The lyrics are in the public
domain as of last week, and appear
below:

Let me tell you a little about my
frenemy Zheng She, the strung-out
giraffe. The other day, Zheng She
arrives at her acupuncturist (you
know that place with the sign that
says "I KILL PAIN"). Zheng She
shows up by enormous parade float
that accommodates 500 sailors and has
nine sails and is 500' long. The whole
thing looks like burning bananas of
inequity. Then she gets these hat pins

stuck in her neck and while she bleeds
she says:

L♡vonomical l♡ve
Fits the hand like glass
Breaking into the fist
Unable to restrain any dramatic thrift
store leanings

And you were so unaware
Devil may care
I can’t afford to return
All your spurned love llamas
Hope that you understand
You can talk to the hand
With broken thumb memory snubbing
Burning bananas of inequity

Then the doctor who kills pain with
hat pins climbs up Zheng She's neck
and says a few things along the lines
of, oh, I don’t know, maybe:

Wooden shoe disinfection jujube
candy / ‘O /

Plastic teriyaki sauce to help you
choke some/ Body's just another
passerby /bye brain freeze/tease the
hopped-up ball of hair/tomorrow's
gone away

From the banjo man

Who cracks his tanner's hide/inside a
misbehaving' surge combustion of
bananas of inequity

Zheng She remains largely a pain in
the neck and I have the hat pins to
prove it.



The Birth of Joey The

Dancing Monkey - Beyond

Vaudeville.

The mercury mine
Had been doin’ her fine
Launch a deuce
Now scar-faced moan
She cordoned off a wafer
She delighted in half -truths and
Hemingway- hangers- on
The sky is a screaming child-in-car-
Alert
Our fantasy date
Consists of two cookies on a plate
I wrote my list while dancing absently
With my toddler daughter
The list is a wish list
Of dance patterns
To overlay sad and grave occasions
That we all have,
That we all share,
This marble finality,
Inscribed
With a dollar per letter,
This embittered conquest
Of cut smiles and waiting dog-like
For feedback on Rococo style and pose
Platinum is your nom de plum
Platinum is your nosegay
Platinum is your weeping by the stone
Moved from the gravesite
Moved to display the ascension
Moved to groove the ascension
Moved to cross- pollinate
To dispense to the lined-up
And forgotten

Ervin Speaks

It’s true. When you bite slowly into
a blue corn tortilla chip, you will
understand nothing at all…but you
will be better to sympathize with
the notion of the presence of
geometry in music.

Eh! Angry Few (Hen of Now of Nearer)

Reuben D. Möbius, the freeze-dried
and revivified water bear, gave his
belt a half-twist and buckled the
ends, hoping as he walked down
that run-down strip of gas stations
and carpet remnant stores that he
would become a fashion luminary.
With a hand mirror in one hand
and an alarm clock in the other,
Möbius had time to reflect. The
fantasy worked its way from the
recesses of his mind's camera and
assumed hyper realistic form, a
giant Twisty Treat franchise ice
cream cone of glistening fiberglass,
graphemes and neon. The cone
towered over him but not in any
deliberate way, more the weary-
albeit -jumbo-sentry at his too-
familiar post than a rabid
opponent. And inside, Bessie the
Queen Termite tosses her enormous
heart over a map and instructs her
patched alates to go out and ride
wherever it lands.



Nathaniel S. Rounds was born under

a pecan tree, chastised with the branch
of a white pine, and in these past five
years, attached himself to a red spruce.
His poems have appeared variously on
the cloud or in loud sounds
experienced by EHS sufferers for
twenty-eight years.

納撒尼爾 大紅大紫下一個山核桃
樹生，懲戒用白松木的分支，而在
這些過去的五年，連自己一個紅色
的雲杉。他的詩有不同地出現在雲

中或在紙上 年。