Dan Raphael

Skin of Glass

     surface that can be removed creates the problem of defining 
     what's underneath, having to go there to find out, 
     having to get the body involved, risk the senses, waste time 
     at least in cleaning up afterwards, in refuting the claims of others, 
     submitting to spectroscopic analysis, finding experts in 
     animal/vegetable/mineral icons/remains/signatures
     no skin but a seed, not a seed but an entrance, an entrance i cant fit, 
     a new body i must--  a probe, an extension, 
                                                   projecting several feet from 
     my skin my spirit coheres as a lazy gelatinous rectangle,
                       not what its made of but that it is, bigger but not more,          
     encasing more space not fed by molecular transmissions, 
                lacking the antennae to receive, 
         through the membranes where something meets nothing, 
                           where meat sums not,    things not,    if so energized, 
     or shelled by that one way accretion of filtering all i'm capable of 
     like a song in one key in half an octave in four-four time, 
     a song that goes for fifteen minutes and can be repeated verbatim, 
     a song you can hear twenty years away, on your ship to who knows, 
     one technology racing another, hollow god-body-tree 
     filled with too many fish   with refugees   with poorly tanned furs, 
     an encyclopedia of non-seeding plants, spores in pores, 
     moisture interrupting everything,   thinning    defining
              making the colors run,    keeping my feet unsteady, 
     		     water trying to get back into my eyes, 
     			     wanting to make my brain a chalice
     the hull is our roof protecting me from the rain below, 
                                            the rain that mostly cant escape, 
                                       is sad  amnesiac   content,  
     salt is its gravity,    fish are its wardens, its fantasies, 
     flying fish and diving birds,   walking catfish and aquatic mammals, 
          huge subterranean pockets of symbiotic fungus 
     displaying the colonic intelligence of ants and bees, 
               rocks that appreciate their own beauty,  molten substance 
     that can neither be defined nor predicted, where heat and pressure 
     create the same relativistic curves as speed and gravity, 
              the big bang is in each of us. 
              the periodic table is in each part of us. 
              the pantheon of buddhas, sattvas and boddhisattvas 
                          are waiting around curves of the brain, 
                 which is not in our heads but in our hearts, 
                 which are not in our chests but in each molecule 
                 unfurling to the sun which is not in the sky 
                           but everywhere
                           at once 
     but waiting to explode and scatter
         waiting to implode and disappear
       too constant/ sealed/ continuous to wait or change 
                                            be or not  
        a star        a collusion of energy deprived of space
     a matrix overpopulated with energy

Copyright © 1996 Dan Raphael

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