The final installment in our feature of young poets from New Orleans comes in the form of two poems from Daniel Grossberg. Check back in coming weeks for poems from Joshua Harmon, Daniel Poppick and Andrea Rexilius, prose from David Bartone, an interview with Sierra Nelson, and more. As to today’s poet: Daniel Grossberg lives happily in New Orleans.
Twin who absorbed the other embryo
My the sun… bathing – soaping about the creases whistling the songs the Asian ladies having shopped ecstatic as to their whereabouts relative to city walls imagine we’re young siblings place yourself left asylum of a country my skin now dappling with the welts cold in my lope the ladies and their child suctioned through binoculars reversed of gray, non-uniform cabbage prolific flags there are some people who are non-descript but my brother is not the women knew, being rather non-descript themselves and of news-worthy detectives suspects/deceased read later, at home whistled so what do we say?
And for fair play I am up with the lady various phrases, acronyms: the occult symbology of policy and proced- ure— accepted jargon that coats speech. A piecemeal work ethic how static-interference gave way to bursts of mumble and clear quiet: “I can’t hear you above…” “I hear nothing” when do you acquire an ear for the city’s drone? empty factories rows of Guess Who fatalities promotion of vaccinated engine noise the way you mistake talk from porches as violence. Too with infotidia gleaned from screens focused on the eye’s path; I am a seventy-inch encyclopedia the spine I own, the content penned in.