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SurVision Magazine

An international online magazine that publishes Surrealist poetry in English.

Issue Nine




sometimes my eyes don't think
what's coming towards us is possible

from the east window i smell rosemary
down the hall i smell coffee
the dappled light on the ceiling
tempts me to outline with a sharpie

this is a day i kneel
getting in or out of a chair
my table is set with small shovels and digging forks
vines growing out of the stove's burners
the flies of fire are too evasive
spiders weaving ankle height doorway twine

outer door on a time lock
the windows are too clean to have glass
eventually all my furniture will fold
into a floor, wall or ceiling
if my second floor is now the first
what's upstairs

i thought i went outside
but was in someone else's house

wind visor, sun mask, rain goggles or night shades
i halved and hollowed a cabbage for headphones
my fresh pasta shirt, corn husk slacks

the closet in the closet
is a buttonless elevator
stairs a conveyor belt
taking me up the silo of work
to plummet the gap of what's not been done

When I Get Out

where the door came from
when the door came to

some days the window wants to melt with laughter
some days the window opaques in defiance

i guess that foot is mine 'cause i feel the same rug
i called my other foot, went straight to voice mail

don't talk to me about hands
don't point out language
or sing about silence

how flat faces have such odd expressions
the difference between folds and wrinkles
when cheekbones can no longer move
when my chin doesn't want to go first

like a hair sandwich without a hat
a bald head that transmits and won't reflect

my arm stretches further than possible
considering all it has to go through
not asking permission or waiting for change

i'm layered like a city:
sewage and water
copper bones, fiber nerves
my skin must be sky since there's none of me above it
two huge lung clouds in the middle of everything

my lips respect each other's boundaries
teeth of various demeanors
this tongue disconnects and wanders
i get to my mouth's back door
and can't decide if i'm solid or gas
if turning around's an option

Dan Raphael is from Portland, Oregon. Recent work appears in Phantom Drift, Lamplit Underground, synchronized chaos, Ginosko, and eratio. His poetry collection, Maps Menus Emanations, has just been published by Cyberwit.

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