A Diptych

Monday, November 30, 2015

My Daughter Leaving Town

Now you ask me why the sky is like a tank full of lemonade

Is how you cast us available Camaros are a form, reliably

Passing fast we’ll arrive at the ruined horse track’s delicately

Arched brutalist concrete you’re hardly

A body at the foreground of it rolling back behind whatever

It leaves you to be funny and a little buzzing

On cola and this long drive vault us to an attitude

Worth their soft gaze soft lids like the end in images of arches opening

To let them pass the things – publics

reparations, the bound constellations

You are and one’s self after them alone

A necro practice without gothic tracers in fabric

But maybe with their opposite ascetic heroism

a train chimes in after the earlier carried branded orange juice

Right past us listening for the very place


My Daughter the Voice

no I want you to see leaves are gone and white like winter

lets make like a girl mean something amazing commercial

flickered in that dead patch today is where I saw

the cardinal you wanted to see

me get behind the devil so you can master pleasure seeing me

“walk behind this man” the voice said to Duriel so she could live

on the train platform soft and touched to see the suds in the sink lighting

on workmen’s calls and some of the Buddhist advice

bends air before breaking it

bird chatter or kids thread air into each other chiastically

it’s a pressure to impose to feel the shape you’re in

tell me what to see when you can it’s a false spring after two days of rain


we make your skin a hole          have us run your voice’s grain

its facts go in boxes whose faces we etch each shave a gain


Farid Matuk

Farid Matuk

Farid Matuk is the author of This Isa Nice Neighborhood (Letter Machine Editions) and My Daughter La Chola (Ahsahta). He serves as poetry editor for Fence and associate editor for The Volta.






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