Jon Paul Fiorentino: Two Poems



In ill Nauset I messaged you

in old Montreal I invoked you

in dead Winnipeg I owned you

I am wrong again


You should heed the words

of your last, last manager

(whatever those were)


In dreary Vancouver I exorcised you

in ruddy Brooklyn I remade you

in perfect Winnipeg I rewrote you

I am wrong again






String prose units, inversions

all the way to rural


Find ways to unthread then stitch up then

consummate lexical decoration then trash it


Your sleeve, your heart, your sleep, your spleen


Prepare existential theses in medias res

or support local load-bearing relics


Let the winter do its kind work so

steal an almost-vintage jacket


Your layers, your work, your laugh, your use


Ensure your phrases enforce

tenets of exuberance


Don’t alter a thing

gain the lowerhand


Your head, your case, your tense

you’re st you’re strong

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