Peter Longofono

Peter Longofono’s poems have appeared in H_NGM_N, fieldsLuna Luna Magazine, and Tenderloin, among others. He serves as the Reviews Editor at Coldfront and makes music with TH!CK. His chapbook, CHORDS, was published in March 2016 by the Operating System. He lives in Brooklyn.
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At the Alpine Smithy Inn
p
p
I’m aloft in the proud gondola,
I’ve overcome stout abutments.
Air turns out to have been
that old reason for rollicksomeness.
p
Industrious hair hectors good-
naturedly at being cut. So zoetic,
chased with gold, gin bristling
into twelve mithril helices.
p
But enough. I can’t afford
being slumberstruck. Guess
what, it’s steaming mercury,
I mean March. La la la pay attention!
p
I abide. Mine are the winds,
stormheraldry, the unadulterated
Earth. I care. Shut my eyes,
dig the prophets fogging
the windows, dig the smoke-
spouts twining triangularly.
p
“I’ve always known I’d be
doing the bottom of the hill,”
my trophy stag points out.
“I told myself I was going to.”
p
“I’ve always wondered why
some snowprints will last days,
and others won’t, and still
others grow farther and farther
apart until they aren’t there at all,
haven’t I?”

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