Conjure. Rae Armantrout

am

      “getting away”

      “with”

      PINOCCHIO

      Strand. String.

      In this dream,

      the paths cross

      and cross again.

      They are spelling

      a real boy

      out of repetition.

      Each one

      is the one

      real boy.

      Each knows

      he must be

      wrong

      about this, but

      he can’t feel

      how

      The fish

      and the fisherman,

      the pilot,

      the princess,

      the fireman and

      the ones on fire

      TOUCHED

      More than a fistful

      of stubby green fingers

      pushing up through gravel.

      And blades, hearts, clubs

      cut fine figures too.

      Each shape particular

      and pushy.

      Each a would-be

      template,

      I say.

      Pick me.

      I’m with the deranged.

      Something’s very wrong.

      There are masks

      in offices.

      Machines run the banks

      and the power company.

      If you aren’t my mother

      or my son,

      who are you?

      And if you are,

      why don’t you know me?

      FORESIGHT

      1

      The way we gather

      at the window, pointing

      with funereal awe

      to this thing

      that isn’t one of us—

      a doe

      nibbling the lawn.

      2

      Reflections

      staggered by ripples

      at the feet

      of quaint buildings

      in paintings

      on hotel-chain walls.

      CLIP ART

      Stroking her cheek,

      I’m drawing

      mirror image arcs

      in the baby’s brain—

      closed parentheses

      left hanging.

      Our topiary space.

      PROMOTION

      Then the evening

      and the morning

      were the last day.

      But wasn’t I promoted

      after I named everything?

      In cartoons, each

      impulse

      gets its own

      signature shape.

      They foil one another

      yet remain intact—

      static dressed up

      as “zany”

      or “hectic.”

      Here is the fur coat

      gnawing wears.

      Point to its pointed teeth.

      THE JOB

      Attending to verbal constructs

      makes care long-term,

      not acute,

      which is for the best

      because, though flawed,

      each one is salvageable

      or replaceable

      unlike my flesh.

      Words can be compared

      with moments,

      houses, trees, wires

      wires, trees, houses.

      All stand

      on their marks.

      Still,

      there’s a lot of overlap.

      I move my eyes

      to make time.

      I take their measure

      and create a duplicate.

      SPECULATIVE FICTION

      1

      The idea that producing a string of nonsense syllables

      while pointing toward an object

      may cause that object to change

      is common in children on the verge of language.

      The idea that force exists only

      as an interaction between objects

      while an object

      is a kind of kink

      in a force field.

      The idea that, if one survives X number of years,

      one will live to see how things “turn out”

      or even that things “end well.”

      2

      In the future we will face new problems.

      How will we represent the variety of human types

      once all the large animals are gone?

      As sly as a mother;

      as hungry as an orphan?

      POSE

      So the problem we pose