Four New Orleans Poets, Pt. 4: Daniel Grossberg

Daniel Grossberg would like you (yeah: you) to repeat what you just said.

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?



The Footprint

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.




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