Like Sandpaper Without the Paper

Like Sandpaper Without the Paper
by Dan Raphael
a picnic with each others clothes
that’s not my arm it’s a sapient noodle
as we dance like velvet for bones
3 people cant stop making music
some rain is bread, some rain is maybe
each time my wallets mouth spews a different color
could be sauce or condiment, could be where my face was
><><><
a big fist of bourbon, a short skirt of uncontainable
I heat the milk til its too thick to inject
instead of changing sheets I change sleeping
knees from a vine; hair replaced with wheat
taking my coat off blocks traffic for half an hour
going over over, adding smoke to smoke
hushed  as flowers when the butter rumbles with desire
><><><
the perfect robot was sent in 15 pieces to random people
thumping like a 30 year old tv with one fluorescent mushroom
between the window panes is lost light, too thick to be her3
the splintered horizon reminds me to lunch
I’m the back third of a horse;  I’m the 5th and 31st stars in the flag
garlic is my guardian angel whirling a rosary of sharpened seeds
><><><
they give me a label but not whats inside
the car I thought I came in is on my keychain
sounds like a river, smells like a freeway, barks like my heart
when my shoes change species & are now nocturnal
curtain wings, coffee mugs over my eyes
><><><
a 50 foot ceiling is unsustainable
bathing in gasoline, patenting my urine
before the sun rises I’ve fried and costumed
I absorb all the information they’ll give me then open another mouth
at 3 pm the studs in the walls are their most expansive
clouds keep us safe from nights contracts & tools
move some place thcker & slower, move somewhere that’ll flood soon
><><><
termites, fire, repossession, a tractor beam
someone steals my false identity and reinvests what I never had
shower curtains leading into windswept post-suburbia
birds without amplifiers, cats with tattoos
a bridge made from books reformulates the neighborhood
jumping through a dawn pink window always gets me going