Timothy Donnelly

THIS IS THE ASSEMBLAGE

speaking. Do you read me? We have been waiting for you here
     in the shadow of our metaphor, under the seats of this thunderous
theater, on a hacienda loud with parakeets, which is itself
     an assemblage of assemblages. You can see how there is no

end to this. Times like these we are immortal together. Say the word
     and you’re our conqueror. Find the treasure and we split it
like an atom. Find the portal and we’ll take it like a daytrip, a trope,
     a paratrooper at the bomb bay door. We are what we are, only

infinitely better: old-school, ostensible, and not all that hiding
     stuff up our sleeves—it’s just arms and arms, which we admit to
freely. They extend to meet your needs. And how they keep you
     company: like a burgundy you can attune yourself to accordingly,

sip after sip. Golden apple, yellow pear. We are not worthless
     here, but cradled in a hold the escape from which is ever-imminent
even after it happens, even when we stand for nothing in particular
     other than the motion of it. More than furniture, more than vehicle

with wheels or wings, we are the voice you choose when you can’t
     choose two. We are your portion of all things. So if you feel as if
a spell is cast on you, or you can’t quite account for yourself, remember
     we’ll always be here at the bottom of it, over. All we have is life.

TIMOTHY DONNELLY is the author of Chariot, which will be published by Wave Books in 2023. His other books include The Problem of the Many and The Cloud Corporation, winner of the 2012 Kingsley Tufts Poetry Award. He teaches at Columbia University School of the Arts and lives in Brooklyn with his family.