Lauren Camp
With wine, I went right
to the open mouth,

took it down, familiar
with the charm of my own particular

sin. It was as if
I had already all the history

of my two worlds,
morning and later—

another street I wouldn’t
have to recognize. Or maybe

those were only
suspicions of conscience.

Little difference the lexicon
if the sense were the mouth of another.

Each half of the day
drunk twice, and no thought

about pauses. Each luxury
of sublingual darkness.

Long sentences
smoothed by spoons.

We sat in our eyes.
One of two was chorus, one held out

his glass at the same time,
emptying nothing. I went home

with peaches after,
with a mind of delay.
from the book TOOK HOUSE / Tupelo Press
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I’m never interested in telling a story or situation straight. Language choice and syntax help me take the familiar and shift it into a realm I need to figure out. I worked on the poems in "Took House" for over a decade, looking through the enduring familiarity of intimacy to a gradually wider point of view and palette of possibilities.

Lauren Camp on "Qualms"
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"The bus ride in the poem seems timeless in the way of an allegory or a parable, partly because travel is a metaphor we all recognize but also because the poem uses a perspective that is intermittently omniscient. The long opening sentence describes the bus from the outside as it travels toward the setting sun with its 'windshield flashing pink'—not as the passengers inside, or the lone traveler waiting some miles away, could have seen it."
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