DAMON makes art in language and audio. He grew up in California suburbs and most recently lived in Hồ Chí Minh City. Now he is an MFA candidate on the cross-disciplinary track at Brown’s Literary Arts program, in Providence, Rhode Island, where one day he went on a bridge to see WaterFire. Find him at damondpham.github.io.
: From a “lineage” of bridge burners, mom’s side
as far as the I can tell you
: two-landing thin
sprayed across a “world”
: the only difficult word now
for dad to wrap around
(not like the meaning
I mean the “curling” of mouth components)
: I thrash “antiques” like a ball lightning device
in a mall stripped of proper nouns
: kind and oblong, protracted and
pre-snapping
decorations are on-trend,
“again”
: I never left the embrace of a whole wide love
that may be “ngắm’d” from any littoral, yours included
: you will get the wrong idea
from image “search”
: don’t bring your lighthouse,
your own grant of sensation
is a rooftop bar, and photos on bottles
tell you as much as I may
even at this time of year.¹
¹ A vagabond in post-death zone, at the great grand plaza, in apple-red cap, I felt for the pelt, the blitz and armor both. I scanned signage for souvenir shops; I was lucky to find a match. I stabbed through the book of riddles. Answers came to me through the flames, the dismissal of the option to return to each question’s basic magic. I ate icicles. I loved everyone as no one had to pin all of me down. Just parts at a time, that I had to process, the few error partings.
That’s so tuyệt vời, how fate cuts about when folks fuck and find out, they say, washing my cap at the tap. Slicing it now. I’ve heard it’s rude to ask where they are from so guesses rot in my bare head. It’s getting late. For decades.
Ngắm tuyết cùng con nhé! It’s been years since, and it’s only been a few years since. They got me both ways. We take stools out to the street, make low whistle. Come on now, sky. Here again.
We're laughing and munching as stones fall, all about us. Stones of sigils that feel sad or empty. I’m wondering if I may say sorry as the zone recedes. I wake without one hạt to remember them by. I’m in a bed of sore tomatoes, a lost position. Recurring dreams, I tell myself, I’ve heard they want to hurt you, anyway. I take a lighter to my steps.
These days in the three-prong diary (rose thorn bud) in the intermediate language class twelve time zones left-right away, it’s the easiest honest opener option:
My rose is I ngắm’d fast clouds today.
My rose is I sat by the river and just did a ngắm.
My rose is autumn is real again and I’m ngắm’ing it all up, PSL, neutrals.
In terms of blame, I hate the fakeness, I say, “I hate the fakeness, I muttered to myself, kicking angrily at the ground. My hickory-charcoal eyes furrowed up at the sky as I cursed and thought happily to former days. All of a sudden, my real day’s rose rose up. It was...!” and then I look around, for a chemical wicca ventriloquist to say this is why, this is why I have a fucking job...
The thorn is just the one I keep pressing on; in a fairy tale it takes you back.
There are buds everywhere; I’m so dishonest.
Anyway you would think it’s kind of weird here. People “nurse” drinks behind open doors. They care all around me, in
ways that can be realized. They put the fire on the water and then we’re supposed to stand on the bridge. Together.
: From a “lineage” of bridge burners, mom’s side
as far as the I can tell you
: two-landing thin
sprayed across a “world”
: the only difficult word now
for dad to wrap around
(not like the meaning
I mean the “curling” of mouth components)
: I thrash “antiques” like a ball lightning device
in a mall stripped of proper nouns
: kind and oblong, protracted and
pre-snapping
decorations are on-trend,
“again”
: I never left the embrace of a whole wide love
that may be “ngắm’d” from any littoral, yours included
: you will get the wrong idea
from image “search”
: don’t bring your lighthouse,
your own grant of sensation
is a rooftop bar, and photos on bottles
tell you as much as I may
even at this time of year.¹
Volume 15.2 ✧ Summer 25
Damon Pham
Please note, this poem is best viewed on desktop.
