Two Poems | Daniel D’Angelo | Granta

Two Poems

Daniel D’Angelo


Driving badly through rain I rolled
the car off a short bank into a fast-moving river.

Years later, having slept beautifully, I woke up
pinned under an extra-redolent cedar tree.

Concentrating, I smoothly phased
through the living wood.

Oh in a sentimental mood for accretive
magnetic thinking I slept in a fragrant room

at a dear friend’s home; awesome piano
playing woke me up. I remembered I

met a thick and bloody river in my dreams
and easily crossed – swimming is easy! Two days

later in real life very sore though. I do fall a good
bit in love every fifteen months. A huge huge

huge ghost tells me everything,
and it’s as fine a form of truth as I can know.







Dear Paul Emily Really     

Joy just quietly bloods the wanderer
floating through Europe in the future.

I loved your wedding, oh I extra-loved
the lanky birds of Orlando’s lakes.

A wedding guest told me the chillest
herons go to bed as men and wake up

 as women – it’s so true!
Joy shadows and pools alongside

your day, and who notices or
makes something of it? Samer(!),

a friend of a friend in Amman,
is very quietly in love with someone

in London. On a nightly basis,
Samer says goodbye to his friends

and confidently and effortlessly
vanishes completely into the night!

Joy, like a soup, like a bowl of the Dead
Sea, buoys godly you away and leaves you

a path to eye-stingingly good anti-matters.
Joy, you know, is murky like melancholy.

It sleeps under a lake! Some people
get a bunch of guys and go hit it

so they know it can’t come back and
terrify the living and thriving villagers.


Image © tanakawho

Daniel D’Angelo

Daniel D’Angelo’s poetry appears in or is forthcoming from The Georgia Review, The Rupture, Pacifica Literary Review, DREGINALD, and APARTMENT. He lives in Washington, DC.

More about the author →