A Late May Day this Dark Confuses my Sense of Spring

Dan Raphael

darkness at noon
gradients of silver

if i don’t just sit here
random as a mood-ring
the hottest colors are beyond our visible
to slice and cauterize, seamless

if i could unbutton my chest
if my parts could be replaced as easily as a cars
how the air i breathe isnt a solid wave
but several furling threads, tiny cylindrical tornados;
the air comes out of me like a sandstorm in a forest,
almost half exiting through my skin, not mouth or nose

the wind takes a quick nap
the highway is sheathed in a stocking of silence
only my noises—typing, the tides of body maintenance,
what sounds like an enclouded plane inside my chest canyon

if i starve can i still sweat
if i hover in my sleep how wide can i open the windows

i hear a crow breathe, i hear a dogs collar
clocks that arent silent call too much attention to time
calendars that flip themselves cant be trusted.


Issue 1 : Fall, 2016