Friday, January 15, 2016

Dan Raphael- Two Poems

Now I Lay Me

I sleep when I’m tired, wherever I am
I croon to the fridge when I’m hungry, no matter whose kitchen
an open door to growling darkness & uncertain floors 
neath a chalky mist of disconstruction

Why am I peeing gasoline
how far can my clothes escape when I’m out of my body
if you’ve never made love to a sidewalk
if the rains never left so many holes in your hand every gesture’s orchestrated
i could unravel into a pavilion transporting you to an unnamed mythology
leaving you dazed & lubricated, slightly taxed & spiritually attuned

When I do an upright somersault crossing 4 lanes the pigeons turn into gift cards;
a halo of applause I’ll redeem for the days first window
like a police car turned into a fruit cake we keep regifting
as the buildings add more floors the street must trim its budget;
as cars get wider & more must park tween fewer lines
got my armor from the u-pull-it & prepare to slay the petro-dragon

One song for the exhaustion over taking us
one song to convince the sun to forgive again


the hand would knock, would find a knob to turn. a dour door diorama—
just finding a tree wide enough these days, of goldilocks density,
straddling the bow and the rib, tension when everything is still

things you have to bend to get in, be it room  crowd  or university,
to get into my old uniform, out of the many-form, the mostly blue and loose
the synergistic contact field of costume and identity,
the same song on another frequency requires different moves, a bump in volume

is that snow, glitter or some unexpected coagulate of the air and what we put inside it
shower before bed and wake in new clothes
as the less dogs go outdoors the more they run in their sleep
scratch to open, squeeze and turn bringing knee to nose
focusing on an upside-down pine inhaling the studio through polypore windows,
cellular alveoli, dervishes of constant transport

       the wind owes nothing,
the wind collects but has no pockets, no skin to bruise
that cloud with a hanging dog penis whose end unfurls to a starfish
swallowed by the ocean that spawned it, what clouds can do for teeth,
what wind can do to efficiency--wait until the door stops to enter;
hesitation may indicate contraband.

did i get the address wrong or is this the right house in the wrong city,
the area code in my pocket, the impatient streets this map ignores,
why do i have to be the moving part and provide my own lubrication,
signing a maintenance contract is waiving your rights,
replacing filters i never had, adding belts that clash with my atmosphere

turn the key, press the pedal, close your eyes and scream some song--
a big cup of electric guitars the only caffeine i need

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