Andrew Seguin

 The Lesser Systems 


     On this day when
the clocks follow the concentric
     tempo of a top

and the verb to be
     has worn off its costume
so the tongue can pick a place

     among pictures, touch
the unsung repose of shut
     it's like the spring is one

powder keg of pretty
     and all the math that felt
unnatural adds up to up

     So stay with me
and stir paint for definitions
     give red to melancholy

for all I care
     for all I am is care lost
in a cornfield where it seeks

     accord, as love
is as much about a person
     as the atmosphere they create

around your coordinates
     the admissions parlor
the family tree where dinner is religion

      No one ever asks
about figments of reality
     but they're there

confetti and metaphysics
     make a fine pair, as do
lemon and ocean, progress, nocturne

     plus other approximate
pronouns such as you and I
     and the only chronological

constants worth a dance
     the two-step we ones
call on and on



* * *

Poem originally appeared in Issue 2 of Map Literary, Fall 2012. Reprinted with the permission of the author. All Rights Reserved.

 

 

 
 

Continue browsing Chapbook Anniversary