Conjure. Rae Armantrout
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href="#u67b9d4f8-f5e7-5fe4-9b47-0de74c4f2ec7">True North
conjore
CONJURE
How did the synthesis
cross the abyss?
In a sentimental story
there is only one
of something:
one newborn,
one moment, one
“once,” embalmed
in myrrh.
All I want
is not to be
first on one side,
then the other,
but to conjure
a stream
of sounds and images
for which I am not
responsible.
and maneuver within it—
mouth and tail
one thought.
The sea, now full
of cannibal
jellies, blue
if the sky says so
UNQUOTE
Take this cup away from me
with its hints
of ammonia and dill,
oak or corrosion.
Who knows, really?
What might ammonia taste like
to a different person?
Roll that question
around on your tongue.
You’ve heard it before
or something like it.
The familiar is enormous!
Red-shifted.
I’m happy to think
of this deep sleep—
“the sleep of the dead”—
as