Jeremy Radin
TO DANIEL DAY-LEWIS
Still I sit, transfixed, whenever it comes on. You,
wrapped in a flag that is not yours, but wearing it
closer than your own skin. You, in that rocking chair,
speaking through a mouth brimming with firstborn
hubris, first to the tit, to crush it in your budding
American teeth, rising from the soft, pink earth
like a city streaked with blood. I know you are a shy
man, but this is something animal; lean & stalk & leopard,
the Leopard King of the New World. Rocking
back & forth, slicing the throat of the air with your thumbs,
how did you find it? This choice of thumbs, always
waving, wagging, plucking, as if demonstrating
your superior humanity. & then in the theatre, a bullet
in your gut, those thumbs held stark against the noise
lifting itself from your throat, all beast, a thousand
frenzied leopards turning the hunt starward,
sprinting up fields of wind, I’m saying, in that moment,
you could have held a star in your teeth, cracked it open
& sucked the bright grease from your mustache,
I’m saying, how do you make your way into that middle-
ground between man & what once hunted us?
Like the truce, finally, like hand clutching paw & shaking
is the shape of your heart. & when you tapped the glass
eye with the knife, our blood matched that rhythm
exactly, magnetized to the blade, begging for the blade,
your spine, a blade of wind. How were you eight feet
tall, Daniel? Even without the top hat, you stretched
upward; a lighthouse leading a city into the angriest
center of itself, a lighthouse at the bottom of a whirlpool
of blood. Was that the image you repeated while flipping
through the pages, a mug of tea in your cobbler’s hands,
pacing in your garden: A lighthouse at the bottom
of a whirlpool of blood. We all know the stories: you, sitting
across from Leonardo at lunch, staring him down, sharpening
a knife. You, becoming ill, refusing medicine
that did not yet exist, refusing clothes thicker than the time
allowed for, but still listening to Eminem on your iPod;
your slender body a cord plugged into his rage, knowing
exactly what you needed to enter best the story. & how
you wept over that rabbit, climbed full yes into grief
& turned it off like blowing out a lantern with such horrifying
charm, all of that glow leaving so sudden your face,
that lens so many faces have passed through,
so many names, so graceful & so terrifying & what if
I never make anything like this? What if the thing
I love the most turns me away at the gate? Daniel,
I will be here still; searching your face like a blueprint
for an entrance into this kind of telling,
a portal into this kind of believing,
a doorway into such reckless becoming.
-------------------------------
A LUCID APPEAL
No man you dont get
you dont get it
she intorduced me to BRUCE SPRINGSTEEN
MAN BRUCE FUCKI
not like heybudmeetBruce
but like you knowwumsaying
she was the first one can I
the ONUHLY ONE to be like
I mean an AURA of BIRDS
I mean like whats it like
FLAMINGOES like fuckin osterdges
like her neck was that long
like a fmingo, an ostri fuck it like THE SKY
like the dissince
from here to the sky the SKY
like no like ugh
the sky IS A BIRD you shitead
and thaaaaaats fuckin
how long her neck
the bird the sky is so big iss all we can
see some times
an CAROLE KING CAROLE FUCKINGKING
I wooden know bout no CLAROLE KING
if it wasnt
yeah thats what the deal is there dartbag
she was I mean like everythi
honessly if she wasnt a piano in a princess cossume
Im not the fuckin emperer of this park bench
you got me sweepotato
OF COURSE I KNEW but that isnt
this is the point:
haha what if i just said THIS IS THE POINT
an then pointed at you for like a minute
no buh wait buh wait buhwait bwait bwait
the FUCKIMPOINT i’m tryna make
is so simple man
I had both my hands
on the sighs of her face
an I did NOTHING
NOTHING
so like love? PFFFFFFFF
slike why would you get in a toyoda
after you could of flown the MINNELIUM FALCON
but like passed up the opportu
wait the MINNELIUM The minnel the minelFUCK
the mi.llem. NO
STUPID SO STUPI
i have never wanted anythi
ohfuck sorry man im killiniss vibe sjust
SHE EVEN LOVED COUNTING CROWS TOO
sjust
an hour about sharks an she just lemme talk
I jusSTOOD there
man
i just
stood there
an my face in her ha
my hands in herf ace
her face
imyhands
like holdin onto
a lantern yknow
like for a second
i could see
where im goin’
Jeremy Radin is an actor and poet from Los Angeles. His work has appeared in decomP and The Rattling Wall. His first book, "Slow Dance with Sasquatch", is available from Write Bloody Publishing. He got shot in the stomach during a liquor store burglary on an episode of "It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia".
TO DANIEL DAY-LEWIS
Still I sit, transfixed, whenever it comes on. You,
wrapped in a flag that is not yours, but wearing it
closer than your own skin. You, in that rocking chair,
speaking through a mouth brimming with firstborn
hubris, first to the tit, to crush it in your budding
American teeth, rising from the soft, pink earth
like a city streaked with blood. I know you are a shy
man, but this is something animal; lean & stalk & leopard,
the Leopard King of the New World. Rocking
back & forth, slicing the throat of the air with your thumbs,
how did you find it? This choice of thumbs, always
waving, wagging, plucking, as if demonstrating
your superior humanity. & then in the theatre, a bullet
in your gut, those thumbs held stark against the noise
lifting itself from your throat, all beast, a thousand
frenzied leopards turning the hunt starward,
sprinting up fields of wind, I’m saying, in that moment,
you could have held a star in your teeth, cracked it open
& sucked the bright grease from your mustache,
I’m saying, how do you make your way into that middle-
ground between man & what once hunted us?
Like the truce, finally, like hand clutching paw & shaking
is the shape of your heart. & when you tapped the glass
eye with the knife, our blood matched that rhythm
exactly, magnetized to the blade, begging for the blade,
your spine, a blade of wind. How were you eight feet
tall, Daniel? Even without the top hat, you stretched
upward; a lighthouse leading a city into the angriest
center of itself, a lighthouse at the bottom of a whirlpool
of blood. Was that the image you repeated while flipping
through the pages, a mug of tea in your cobbler’s hands,
pacing in your garden: A lighthouse at the bottom
of a whirlpool of blood. We all know the stories: you, sitting
across from Leonardo at lunch, staring him down, sharpening
a knife. You, becoming ill, refusing medicine
that did not yet exist, refusing clothes thicker than the time
allowed for, but still listening to Eminem on your iPod;
your slender body a cord plugged into his rage, knowing
exactly what you needed to enter best the story. & how
you wept over that rabbit, climbed full yes into grief
& turned it off like blowing out a lantern with such horrifying
charm, all of that glow leaving so sudden your face,
that lens so many faces have passed through,
so many names, so graceful & so terrifying & what if
I never make anything like this? What if the thing
I love the most turns me away at the gate? Daniel,
I will be here still; searching your face like a blueprint
for an entrance into this kind of telling,
a portal into this kind of believing,
a doorway into such reckless becoming.
-------------------------------
A LUCID APPEAL
No man you dont get
you dont get it
she intorduced me to BRUCE SPRINGSTEEN
MAN BRUCE FUCKI
not like heybudmeetBruce
but like you knowwumsaying
she was the first one can I
the ONUHLY ONE to be like
I mean an AURA of BIRDS
I mean like whats it like
FLAMINGOES like fuckin osterdges
like her neck was that long
like a fmingo, an ostri fuck it like THE SKY
like the dissince
from here to the sky the SKY
like no like ugh
the sky IS A BIRD you shitead
and thaaaaaats fuckin
how long her neck
the bird the sky is so big iss all we can
see some times
an CAROLE KING CAROLE FUCKINGKING
I wooden know bout no CLAROLE KING
if it wasnt
yeah thats what the deal is there dartbag
she was I mean like everythi
honessly if she wasnt a piano in a princess cossume
Im not the fuckin emperer of this park bench
you got me sweepotato
OF COURSE I KNEW but that isnt
this is the point:
haha what if i just said THIS IS THE POINT
an then pointed at you for like a minute
no buh wait buh wait buhwait bwait bwait
the FUCKIMPOINT i’m tryna make
is so simple man
I had both my hands
on the sighs of her face
an I did NOTHING
NOTHING
so like love? PFFFFFFFF
slike why would you get in a toyoda
after you could of flown the MINNELIUM FALCON
but like passed up the opportu
wait the MINNELIUM The minnel the minelFUCK
the mi.llem. NO
STUPID SO STUPI
i have never wanted anythi
ohfuck sorry man im killiniss vibe sjust
SHE EVEN LOVED COUNTING CROWS TOO
sjust
an hour about sharks an she just lemme talk
I jusSTOOD there
man
i just
stood there
an my face in her ha
my hands in herf ace
her face
imyhands
like holdin onto
a lantern yknow
like for a second
i could see
where im goin’
Jeremy Radin is an actor and poet from Los Angeles. His work has appeared in decomP and The Rattling Wall. His first book, "Slow Dance with Sasquatch", is available from Write Bloody Publishing. He got shot in the stomach during a liquor store burglary on an episode of "It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia".
