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dan raphael

Possible Winters



The highway never stops

asphalt’s thermal stress & release

dry trees nullifying the wind’s stealth

doesnt make sense to see a cat moving & hear nothing

most people move like pages in a flip book

descending simultaneous mirrored staircases

our LED suits flickering like crushed foil moths




My forehead shivers while my feet

are mute or asleep, taking a walk 

with me, my thin lungs, overzealous thighs 

thinking they belong underground

swimming through the thickest possible 

below the man made clouds of culverts, cables, 

an unedited past without the noise of roots

where pressure's a lubricant




Not sure if light is an anesthetic

or a stimulant, making cold more tolerable

as if i could taste what i hadn’t seen

mystery dumplings dissolving in my mouth

releasing what might still be able to move

might start a small fire of vegetable aroma

produces a thin grit the opposite of salt

taking water hostage, compressing smoke

into diagnosis




Every billboard here is a menu

how the same ingredients make 85% of our world

how each of our teeth could be a city block

with several businesses trading through nerves & saliva

no customers,   no doors.   no coffee breaks

you could be blinded every time the mouth opens

a sky some turn away from, some refuse

to believe, others keep their cameras running

just in case, braving the flooding, the chewable rain,

the fingers & devices that never apologize 




Crows on the frozen grass

extend their wings like edwardian capes

engulfing several other layers

not peeling away like a sarong

or a blanket wrapped around someone

just pulled from a january river

the car that slid off the road

still bubbling for help

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