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creole resting
place
stars awash in river
moon hanging bright & listless
above tenement
clawing thru the chain-link of
too many vacant lots wired
like circles
vast units of entertainment
colored flowers on
wallshirts
obvious secretions lost
in trumpet
venturing out toward e-motion
this is what "all-stars" means
casa elegancy asac-gleance
all stars shine / outcome(d)
sparks
night has become a city without margins
at the height of the heat of some renaissance
on harlem's edge
there is no such thing as stop(ped) motion
shouting innocence usurped unsurprising
sorely missed
heat flows chill my neck
& black shirted trumpeter wipes his brow
with a blood red cloth
moon awash in river of candleblues
earth colors piercing our ears
saxophony extraordinary
as 2 tenors pronounce every microscopic
sound speck
every range of fuckoff & nearer
pushed into the stoodup
blowing being catalyst
immediately bordered by projections
this is truly a war of peace
for instance:
this is event to the head
then deeper into sweet dessert
cracked up & dark moving thru
the face of situation
piano falling softly thru a room
awash with faces
density of a late dying summer night
wired like circles
moon
haven of elegance
white keys depressed
in melancholic conviction
unequivocally messing
with trigger
quick emotional struggle
weapons of peace
contrabass attacking the whatnots
of subtleness
coinciding struggles
cultural quantums steadily
drummed into us
freaky epiphanies situated in
no-man's-land
resources within a vast expanse of
he's & she's
& the narrower spaces that humility
& pointing towards advance
exactly brings
SHOOT ME?
here even the furniture runs
excitedly
roamers unleashed -
i'm right up front with
the horns
if god had wanted me to stay home
tonight
"he" would have found a way
to do so.
enters
not so much as
itself
but as sparks burs
ting forth as they exting
uish
with a shared caution
baring left then
right
in accordance w/body's
movement
6:02 pm
summery oct.
day
by the
river
who is it that sd.
what most of us no longer
remember?
it's a moving thing
evening
sparks of fish-light lying
boys caressing
shadows jogging
not reaching
proper lowpoint between
structures
moving south
again
boy's hand stroking genitals
beneath cloth
kayaks rippling toward
pier
when i was young
evening always had its
good side
despite my ignorances
this sun masterful from this chair
warranting
2 pairs of spectacles from
my pocket
near viewing / far viewing
still so much to
learn
falling without sound
evening
water
railing
ending days / happy days
what makes a man?
1.
located sources
imperial televs
professional workers
resume
spring – a build up
slide/ valve stretches
calling our selves stresses
almost essentially centuries
tried & apart(h)e(i)d periods here
separatum from enslavement
the many whittled colors robbed friends
essentially
mussered val(v)ue hook by hook in/deeds
kinship – any body’s blown familiar
unaccustomed springing to extent
parts stresses periods ends l’avement
we are different & paper-read traders
understated updates
understood referred psychability available(s)
doesn’t have to be done so
bone registered openness
all the stones right for a slipping back
team supported stop densitorium
what is honest brought to life – a musser
i knew right there – a musser
plunkt the regrund sensitivity to the depth of 'merica
seeking assessments gone-or-geous sonorities
playerful fractured removal of melody
scratch it & scratchit
a musser urk morph difference removed live
unison cord broke musexplitives
spoke-hum delturized
extent/ed mid-ranging pounded sleepwalker
ult desun end sahray merci.
2.
page turned
upside down
scored unblindness
charm / wit
wisdom / wild restraint
carnival barker repeats over & over again
mental sat tie(d) mental
faster faster up / down
intervals of humor / laughing
grand monocled sir laugh me
splayed / splintered into singular tongues
what can possibly come out of fractured speech(es)?
how many revolutions are created by sound?
musser the gentle beauty spilled
the chao(h)s caused this sleeper to awake.
Steven Dalachinsky was born in Brooklyn, New York sometime after the last Big War and before lots of useless little wars...he has been writing poetry since before then and has always...he is basically self-taught...his great loves and influences are the Beats, Blake, Kafka, Camus, Harpo, surreal and abstract painting and music......especially jazz and so-called "Avante Guarde" or "FREE" jazz. Two key elements in his poetry are spontaneity and the idea of transformation rather than description with a preference toward non-linear, non-narrative thought. He resides in Manhattan where he has lived for the past 30 years.