LITERARY
by Tony Iantosca
Certain only that
we have bodies
the question then
becomes what to do
with them and why
to do that and not
something else.
Losing it, you can
become something else
for a while before that
too makes a joke
of our fixation with form
landscapes encamp
a series of noises mistaken
or real as vacancy’s
signed note. Your voice
is there on the balcony
or that porch I left
speaking to whatever
message machine
made it elude
the untethered real.
What’s real is a basement’s
tunes made underfoot
certainty gone all tidal
and dizzy and I heard
your voiced salutation
or something postpone
its rhythms into the print
we’re all left with, the lamp’s
angle making it impossible
to read as the record
migrates to its end.
Can one see?
About the Poet:
Tony Iantosca is a poet and writer living in Brooklyn, where he is a lecturer in the English department at Kingsborough Community College (CUNY).
