Jon Paul Fiorentino: Two Poems

IN PERFECT WINNIPEG

 

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

 

 

 

LOWERHAND

 

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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