Foreground

Foreground
by Dan Raphael

As if the background is jittery & the subjects hearts arent beating,

a vibratory stillness like a traffic jam inside an antenna cause what is metal

if not an urban core traffic jam where the cars have been still so long

we begin to remodel the interiors, add shelves and seating that converts into a bed.

the mirror sees more than i do, an ambidextrous world, a ceiling of salad

we can thin and keep growing, mutant basil hypnotizing our appetites,

kale big enough to make clothes from, inspirational radishes—

if only i could sweat oil and vinegar, if garlic was still legal—where you going

with that large wooden bowl, begging for surplus pages, for consensual binding,

when the story could have started yesterday or before we were born

but page 1 is always now, the cover is a cover, thinking the shirt will fit until i put it on

and have to negotiate before i can be naked again, hurting my wrist when i try to roll up a sleeve,

how i got here is a stain near my crotch, the safest way to ride a bicycle is to remove the seat

and pedal with someone elses moccasins. As new building compress the streets

cars can no longer pass & freeways become so wide lane stripes are whimsy, oppression,

whether self- or outwardly imposed.

you can get there from here but do you want to.

visualizing your destination makes it easier to arrive but harder to be on time.

here’s a picture form 3 years from now, horizon contaminated by 100 year yeast,

we’re teaching bread to photosynthesize, fermenting beer with beef and peanuts,

distilling abandoned refrigerators and stacking them like wine in uncontrolled environments—

bottling is always painful, like migraine e-mails, tumor coupons, buy one get another

through your window, maybe without breaking it, window emulating my smile by widening,

as if my eyes learned to zoom. As if what was holding back my unifying vision of our world

was my glasses, like trying to walk through a busy mall with someone elses prescription,

since you wont see disaster coming why bother to look, i was teleported but didn’t know it yet,

couldn’t see what i couldn’t imagine, where i needed my bones and nerves

but not my skin or thirst, where your hunger is what you’re paid for, your palates preferences.

the natives have no word for when and sound here works mostly like light used to

more than i’ve ever heard through my skeleton, memory, my mouth never closes,

my eyes are channel in channel in evefy corner nuanced or growth, when i know i’m walking straight ahead

but make a circle on the placid lake i’m walking, feet loose but agile

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