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Opening

dd
Aaron Daigle
November 5, 2012
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This bar grew from stone and wood,
russet and cream.
Trees lean on the porch, nonchalant.
I'll take what he's having.
Hear: phrases sung from in-between. 
Strange babies, 
microphones desirous of lips.

Buddy's car was having trouble, 
brakes like grinding teeth.
Overhearing, someone fixed it 
without saying a thing.

One table collects candles from the others;
they divine in flames reams of words,
faces Midas-oiled.
Without power, the set moves acoustic. 
Two inscribe a circle: their voices are caves,
cloisters of scarce-seen motes. Light falls far from here.
Guitars've outgrown us. Drums move inward.

I touch you, in the way it was before language,
and my lungs brachiate into song.

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Filed Under: November 2012, Shorthand Tagged With: Aaron Daigle, poetry, Shorthand

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