dan raphael
“I like to beat people up” ted berrigan
to beat, to beat up, beat until stiff,
the beatitudes of bears, spasms from dietary imbalance--
my stomachs from two continents and one century away
i put round headed pins in my flesh to show where ive been
alone with a mirror, the ceiling held up by thin black lines
as if drawn on the air so amused it was trapped
as light agrees to stay within the walls, as color wells at the edges
i can make beef taste like soy, i can make chicken taste like snake
when my fingers rub through my hair theyre imagining the span from dinner to sex—
washing dishes, putting up the window covers, giving fire a cozy place for the night
i try to sleep through all the darkest parts yet can never stand on my shadow
like a simultaneous trilogy spread across dozens of people
reading similar sentences in every corner of this town
the dog version the cat version
if i sing i see birds
if i look through the trees i see the billionth essence of factory—
crack it open, whirl the parts around, seal em back up with fresh paint, go to bed hungry
when i cant sleep i forget to breathe
when i cant breathe i make a new opening
i manage to rinse completely before the shower stops
some day ill wake up in the house ive always wanted & worry how long ill stay
as the bed reassembles into a kitchen, the refrigerator unfolds into a store,
i cant open the medicine chest,
magic only requires a few words but each of those is a library,
some days i only use one letter.
what does bubbling gruel tend to speak of
at times of minimal green
when the closer kept the safer
flower petals on captured snow can mimic anything, as well as escape
as if im a window someone is removing the plywood from, opening a house
we’d forgotten was here
From Portland, dan raphael performs his work throughout the northwest. He's currently reading from his new book, Breath Test (nine muses books.) Recent poems appear in 5_trope, Skidrow Penthouse, M Journal and Knock Journal.
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“I like to beat people up” ted berrigan
to beat, to beat up, beat until stiff,
the beatitudes of bears, spasms from dietary imbalance--
my stomachs from two continents and one century away
i put round headed pins in my flesh to show where ive been
alone with a mirror, the ceiling held up by thin black lines
as if drawn on the air so amused it was trapped
as light agrees to stay within the walls, as color wells at the edges
i can make beef taste like soy, i can make chicken taste like snake
when my fingers rub through my hair theyre imagining the span from dinner to sex—
washing dishes, putting up the window covers, giving fire a cozy place for the night
i try to sleep through all the darkest parts yet can never stand on my shadow
like a simultaneous trilogy spread across dozens of people
reading similar sentences in every corner of this town
the dog version the cat version
if i sing i see birds
if i look through the trees i see the billionth essence of factory—
crack it open, whirl the parts around, seal em back up with fresh paint, go to bed hungry
when i cant sleep i forget to breathe
when i cant breathe i make a new opening
i manage to rinse completely before the shower stops
some day ill wake up in the house ive always wanted & worry how long ill stay
as the bed reassembles into a kitchen, the refrigerator unfolds into a store,
i cant open the medicine chest,
magic only requires a few words but each of those is a library,
some days i only use one letter.
what does bubbling gruel tend to speak of
at times of minimal green
when the closer kept the safer
flower petals on captured snow can mimic anything, as well as escape
as if im a window someone is removing the plywood from, opening a house
we’d forgotten was here
From Portland, dan raphael performs his work throughout the northwest. He's currently reading from his new book, Breath Test (nine muses books.) Recent poems appear in 5_trope, Skidrow Penthouse, M Journal and Knock Journal.
posted by mark young at 2:56 PM
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