dan raphael
Possible Winters
1)
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
2)
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
3)
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
4)
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
5)
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
