Poems by Dan Raphael
increment weather
the light changes so gradually the clock only needs 3 or 4 numbers—
increment weather—mist, drizzle, showers, rain
no matter how thin, how quick, how protected by internal heat
you get the rains message, a spamming no firewall or anti-virus can stop,
no silver bullet can protect your thirst, maintain the crispness of starch or pastry
count the number of drops hitting your head in 60 seconds
and divide by the prisms swimming in your eyes
speed doesnt affect saturation; waterproof only means the rain will come from in you
everyone votes, everyone drinks, everyone feels what could be tears drool
leakage that has no name but you still feel responsible for.
we’re born wet & die wet, releasing what we’ve hoarded
if we could see the stars they’d be milky smears on the inside of our galactic umbrella
as 25 years of occupation gives this house its own storm front, high pressure zones
as if an arbitrary calendar ensures predictability
we trust the time keeper, the way a cesium atom continues sending scouts to find rain
how a bowl in the middle of nowhere can create an urban culture
why have a roof? why taunt thirst with windows?
is plumbing a false god? do toilets mean we’re ashamed of our inefficiency?
to pay for water means you’re not free, to drink imported water from a plastic bottle
means youre no longer completely human, compromised by living so long
with so many thirsty strangers
we go up
inside the chromeless van is a tribe with three fires
the river arcs over us like a freeway ramp
i have no motor to take me away
unable to keep my colors within the surveyors lines
as the land disassociates so does distance,
like when my arms stretch opposite and each hand wants to tell the other
everything it sees the palms get so excited rain is likely
i learned how to turn a puddles skin into a mirror
since i wont remember how i looked i stop changing
a tree knocks on the door as i notice a mushroom at my feet
the two birds that were my neck fly away, growing into walls
i can only see through at night when the storms of combustion
make my body as splintered as the floor--
everything that grows here makes a different note
when the first rain falls i run out to connect the propagandic dots
i spit pee and cry as streaks of color make me hungry
no faucets--just face up and open my mouth
may be cold, may be salty, may leave messages on my teeth
analog
someone was afraid they’d forget
someone thought a debt might not be honored
you cant trust memory
i don’t want anyone thinking i made this all up
i want everyone to know i made this all up
stacks of blank paper mesmerized me—
couldn’t eat it, couldn’t sleep in it, couldn’t wear it for long
burns too fast
blood is limited
stain is forever—oak stain, swamp stain, walked on by cows stain
if everyone ive told about this dies or moves away
i tell the goddess and maybe she’ll put it in my grandchildrens dreams
i show the earth my foot, i show the sun the terrain of my skull
i fold the paper so small it goes through my hand, appears behind my ear
my spine is a tree seeking to burst my inner sky
my stomach is green, my shit is dark as night, eyes as empty as the sky
remember how i phrased this
remember the word i created to describe what we’ve all seen
the one thing only paper can do
pressed against the window til the glass is permanently crazed
its always winter in the papers core
since summer always comes back
if i don’t sleep does the day change
if the calendar never moves if the calendar splits out of focus
youd need a city of clay to transcribe the bible
when i see a single letter on a sheet of paper I don’t know
whether to take revenge or fill it
Questions, rumors and speculation
can I take my rosary on the plane?
could buddha absorb all the water in this swimming pool, even if it wasn’t chlorinated?
how many balls could abe
mohammed spent almost three years without touching ground, most of that on horseback.
william shakespeare was identical twins
arundhati
if jesus wasn’t killed he’d run for president, but would only be a spoiler.
some lao tzu’s live in shacks miles from any village or town, some are high school janitors,
some are on skidrows, absorbing the wine from empty bottles.
william blake walks into a bar; everyone feels like theyre on acid.
six months after ken lay arrived on his private island a local coalition had him under control, transferred all his money to them, and lives alone & boatless on an uncharted atoll
betsy ross figured out the pattern of map folding that’s still used today.
the first alien who gets past the military will want to talk to dan raphael.
Copyright © Dan Raphael
While waiting for the new year, Dan Raphael is still doing readings featuring the new book, Breath Test. new poems appear in Otoliths, Skidrow Penthouse, Knock Journal and Arabesques. |  |
