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Two Poems

Laurie Price

CARGO

I hear “no perfect unions”
and that otherness is still
there   there’s a way to be
with it between it
or under the spell
of its sticky green aperitifs

Things stuck in their domains
complicate the algorithms I hate.

My favorite music
feeds its own infinitive
revisions when the violence
of a moment’s sweat hosts
the audience spun inside out

To give back
and front between
receiving is riveting.

Then I’m back in my room
and feel the room well
in me too.



BLIND CONCOURSE

Spiritual seduction   place of execution
deduced by the hour   off tune ditty off duty
comes and goes slow, say some words go ahead
‘curiosities prime bittersweet obligations’
then write the concave vexations
present in the hand’s open contracts
A broken alphabet heals itself
through touch, wind through trees
expresses desire, pollen
clouds torn open

Abstracted by August’s nervous heat
foreign notions of aperture
entered into without rancor
Prosody’s local tongue inclines and slips
interest to cede verticals in viscous blind concourse,
shuffle among tree-lined streets
from an ordinary imagination, less a place
than a tight grip on possibility, conditional
locutions cleft expressions of desire
pollen clouds
woo open