Two Poems by Lee Norton




Poetry


 


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Credit: Dave Whyte

 

Another Means of Egress

after J. Khalil-Huffman

you needn’t but open the wrists of cars
and bring the din of cars.
you need only to pardon
the dewed fields for submitting

and then to follow the fields’
openings onto corridors
of powerlines. you can hold powerlines,

torque the windlass

and find yourself in a suburb
of yourself, and find yourself

in a suburb of yourself,
tackling a lawnchair.

or rotating an angel neither plaster
of paris nor imagined nor real,
or riding another means of egress,
a car without wrists.

you find yourself riding another
tree, limning that tree.

or in a suburb of yourself find yourself,
juggle the solid dew,
punch out a plumb street light.

favor a slow ruler
or tackle saplings or
tackle the suburb of your mother
passing through the screen door.

basically, it is simple, you just
tackle your sister who
is passing through the screen door.

it is simple. you just
marvel at the pitch and yaw and
imagination of biplanes. you pass
solid dew from hand to hand,

and you pass solid dew
from hand to hand, and
you land yourself on water.

 

At Remove

against
dusk particulate and settling
dead into hillocks

your father attends
his father who
is fitful also

settling into
his limbs increasingly
separate phenomena

or so I imagine
when
you tell me in a voice I think

I understand
how
your grandfather’s death sparks

lively
in the break in your
father’s voice unless is it the phone

there is something in is
there something there
that question compiling

its own
history of the tool-wielding animal
over these last one

hundred years the heart
itself
the un-worked-upon worker

 

Lee Norton lives in New York, NY, where he teaches literature and writing. His poetry has appeared in 6×6, Drunken Boat, Supermachine, Aufgabe, Hayden’s Ferry Review, and Sawbuck. He is a PhD candidate in English literature at UNC-Chapel Hill.