Apartment Poetry Quarterly

13A              13B              13C              13D              13E              13F


13D Daniel D'Angelo




I did get my pump on, I ripped it from the air!
And moved a lot of earth, so much! Near the

humongous, chilly Hudson Bay! What a pump!
It was said to be the end! An agency of lines

lapped about. A Special Rain at the Bay!
A visibly weird droplet pattern dropped:

Each drop stopped at the valuable Bay’s surface,
went back the way it came. The rain was red,

just red, not, like, mortal red, you know? (Something
like 40 normative ponies came for a dip,

a follow-up meeting in rainy hell, for a
confusing discussion of the poem we’re in.)

Anywho, the rain looked, actually, like a
see-through curtain falling and rising a lot.

Death is a narrow rain—joy is a wide rain.
This is a wide rain. Salty and citrus-y.


You look really good!
You need something to do!
You definitely have unlimited life!

Ufff, look at that robe you bought
—it glows!
Do you wear it? Oh my god!

You could wear that at work,
you could crunch the data
—Hey! The robe turns

your eyes yellow,
it’s kind of lovely!
At work they call you

the house of pain!
Hm! There’s a long tattoo
on your leg, it’s text,

it’s thirty-one words:
Today, I saw glowing triangles
in the store, on the road,

and over the muddy, flooded river;
I also saw Bradley—he said he ate
his youth and threw it up!


Donovan, like a lot of people,
ate the entire pizza, and his body,

politically and totally like a cigarette,
burned away in like 3 minutes and 3 seconds,

like an efficient pop song!
Oh, there is a formula for making Donovan.

That’s good! And we have fresh insights
from the data on Donovan! The data points:

My god, he could paint like a godmaster!
The data suggests: He seems to have run

a full-ass marathon in Philadelphia!
In his hometown in his youth,

a couplet of public buses squashed him
and by the look of the data: He’s just, he’s

quite fine! He’s absolutely right!
God, I know I love the man after the fact!