Dan Raphael

The Way of the World

the small and the large          the simple and the toasted
antibodies for privacy          sex with teflon and blood
the mass of men             velocity of plants              the laws of daily routine:
                  drain the muscles                   lubricate the stone horizon

the scar down his chest
like the aerial view of river i fell into
                                                               a bird suddenly made human
                                                               ignorant of gravitys dance-laws

a proper globe is covered with the skin of one person's chest, the map makers practice
tattooing live people who then serve as advertisement while having legal protection from foul play--
its easier without the bones but the training is in vision, and in the hiding the seams
with topography and longitude

globe standing on whose head, a wall to force, a cud to chew
one world            one market
                                                       cash and its companions,
trading our way up and calling it evolution        calling it progress

          "The entire body is continually mapping and consulting with
           what becomes constructed at various levels as realities."
                                                                                                     (henry gould)

i dive into the tattoo bulging between the biceps, an incendiary city underwater of viscous vision
whirls around the blades
from as high as i can see
                                        falls into my hands at night so free of temperature and texture
the moon doesnt wane but unpeel and flare like global methane
heatless airless nothing to burn but a way to cool
                                                                                 so nothing stays
nothing gets comfortable
                                             needle makes the mountain flat white

          "The local is a shabby thing. There's nothing worse than bringing us back down
           to our own little corner, our own territory, the radiant promiscuity of the face to face."
                                                                                                    (Jean Baudrillard)

local anesthetic, crazy without a place, easy as falling off
a theorem, anti-rhetorically
                                                      say it in monosyllables, in broken english,
rupturing the esophagus, mistaking the vocal chords for a condom that wont unroll
no matter how high i pitch my voice
it wont go over the barrier,
                                              mock sound      mock lobster
dipped to become a match
                                                       elements to change a place with
                                           cosmetic surgery by the acre

by the time i get back around
everything's moved:
                                 iguanas turned into trees,  pond with a family of 16 living over it:

  as bugs said -- "i knew i shoulda turned left at albukoiky"

or a place high enough to throw a small dog onto something hard enough
                                                        impact makes a map

       or a citymap with pins at each intersection where drivers gave me the finger
                                               i weave a distance catcher so i can stash shortcuts
                                           safe passages i can drive while unconscious
                                                                                                  not as automatic as duty,
           the way downhill to home,     the friday night path through vined over miasma

      strength where the week ends,      strings for flossing    harping    fishing    memory
                 palm fronds glued at odd angles to stones and shells, constellations tattooed
         on a palm or inside an eyelid,           knowing what trapezoid tween what stars
         will get us home from the galaxys center i try to ease each breath into