Indexical Elegies by Jon Paul Fiorentino

MY SINCERE APOLOGISTS
    They knew him
    like
    So stunned by
    your
    And how dare
    it
    Because we never have
    very
    But if s/he
    only
    Troll, you
    trawl
    Shhh

    I object to your secondness
    your leaving
    autumn slippage
    yellowed paper
    small
    pressed
    Sick of signage
    turn left at Ayer’s Cliff
    stick to the side road
    trail any direction

    All roads, side roads
    all text, signage
    All seasons, autumn
    all memories, winter

    Steven dreamed of you the very second
    you died
    (So the poem goes)
    and you may have visited him
    But I’m pretty sure you don’t believe
    in poems

    Home is where the arc is
    home is where the arch is
    Begin with digression
    rerun of the archons
    Alone in ink and whiskey
    wasted well on paper
    Obliterate this order
    eliminate signatures, signifiers
    Make it sense –
    home is where the chart is

    Domiciliation dance
    constrained in little rooms
    Tied up in theory
    so cold on consignment
    Dust gathers
    librarians dust
    He’s dead
    Too much displacement
    not enough condensation

    You have texts
    to be completed
    Left them on a
    jump drive for us
    Archive key
    Terrible symmetry
    sorrowful telemetry

    Start again with
    signatory stature
    Make nice with
    old signposts
    Make strange with
    odd likenesses
    Make new icons
    drop old habits
    Proceed without familial
    consent
    Rob,
    Jay, Dave and I
    stashed all the expensive
    whiskey at your wake.
    Not sorry,
    Jonny

    It’s over
    The invalid townships
    insist
    The sickening tenured
    posit
    Let it rest
    no more mythologies
    Stash pain
    in a volume of poetry
    Where no one could possibly
    find it

    I miss everybody
    Me too
    Where are the other senses:
    the sick twist of what you strain through metre
    The feelings, notions, street corners, alcoves
    jargonistics, sidewinders, string theories, me too
    Flesh and no lungs appalling m’appelling
    never no gerund me fixate when and recalling tome
    Question for every sense and infinite use
    despotism of the finite and drink it, slam it toward me
    Yeah, Robert, I feel you, want you holding on
    me too

    Composed in 1946
    compost in 4/4 time
    Then
    comprosed –
    a new verb
    wicked and defiant
    Missing you
    Send in the nouns

    Transprairie
(A Post-Prairie Suite)

    The open prairie conceals a chasm.
    â€“ Robert Kroetsch
    in that person is a site
    dreaming of floods and rivers woke gagging
    â€“ Jessica Grim

TRANSPRAIRIE
    Please step away from the scene
    nothing to be here
    It follows that the primary unit of poetry
    in flatland is the line
    We have arrived: world class in our way –
    our way is lost: we like it Rich, standby
    The dreams you don’t know you know
    and the dreams you know all too well
    You are tranced
    I am incidental
    But in which kind of poetry
    do we place our dead dreams?

INSTRUCTIONS FOR SPROUTING A POET IN WINNIPEG
    It’s non-arable land so go hydroponic
    once you sprout, lay low
    don’t make eye contact with teachers or ministers
    Shower three times a day
    don’t pray. There’s no god in Winnipeg
    there is an understaffed drop-in centre
    Use fine-tip pens
    red ink is more than fine
    only write on receipts and parking tickets
    Pitch a tent. Stay a while
    but don’t get comfortable
    when they find out, lay low in Selkirk
    When they forget, come back
    or don’t. But always remember:
    they will forget you

INSTRUCTIONS FOR SPROUTING A POST-PRAIRIE POET IN WINNIPEG
    Hydro sprout low
    administer shower shovel
    loyal writhe receipt
    Accept sense tenting
    sell member hideout
    comfort brace remembrance
    Get growl forget

PROCESSIONAL DEVELOPMENT
    (talking points from the Winnipeg Leadership
Symposium for Leaders, March 1994)
    â€¢What you need to know
    â€¢ is the brain is so very good
    â€¢ at picking stuff up.
    â€¢ Are they really
    â€¢ reading the labels?
    â€¢ Really?
    â€¢ Remember: the idea
    â€¢ of the holy grail
    â€¢ is viral.

    â€¢ Fifty percent of readers
    â€¢ will actually do something.
    â€¢ That’s a big