FreezeRay:  Poetry With A Pop
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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".
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