Why they call this March when the doors are mostly sleeping

Why they call this March when the doors are mostly sleeping
by Dan Raphael

Texture not a knee
blanket or furnace
fog in a valley seen from above
night’s not always colder

Learning to inhale mouthless
my brains menagerie
pileated, sharp-shinned, rufous
the sky inside, digestive rush hour

Cleft chin, 3rd eye, butterfly scar
my shirt wants to go to the floor
i smell lemon but taste lumber
the password is spirit gum

Apology isnt a creative condition
once i have a picture of the bruise
i didn’t know the chair was nailed sideways to the wall
the slow syrup rain falls like dna

To get out of the house inside me
a world without horses or motors
crow like sheet metal, folding unscathed
my hand is ringing but the caller ID is blank

From compliment to implement
one thread of river stopped for me
get a bird far enough away you see a cloud
last night i felt the streets thirst

All i want is the skin, you can have the fruit
after a month what i saved was drinkable
painting with fumes, drawing like the thinnest whip
bread left in the toaster overnight will change its chemical structure

Steel rails, wood rungs, wings of pressurized light
wind accelerates across the newly shaven
are those mountains or forgotten buildings
never wear moss you haven’t grown yourself

When a cats not for dinner
opening one door snaps another shut
through the window in the table i don’t see the floor
its been almost a month since its rained on my head

After 5 minutes the jacket relaxes
i turn the key and get questions
inside the refrigerator slowly moving
on Tuesdays no trees this side of the street

Either a number I’ve never learned or a faulty display
i open the hatch in my palm and squint into laddered darkness
when theres no more coffee we’ll drink meth stained with raisins
as the smoke clears hungers get louder & more dissonant

I’ll just wait for the ocean to get to me
was granted my wish to be a catalyst but forgot to specify of what
not more cars but damaged and uncooperative streets

the future depends on all of us emptying our pockets & running away

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