Five poems and four collages by Steve Dalachinsky

the obligatory pony ride

( passing your life around the room   year by year / a series of photos / for a soon to be book )

steve dalachinsky   nyc   1/24-25/01

blood blossoms ( with a nod to John Ford’s Perkin Warbeck )

i am a man without parents
an orphan
a stone stoppeth in my bladder
pink-flecked against pink tiles
a huge spider
i brush my teeth
rain slowed
mist breathing
absorbing
absorbed by mts.
dream an affliction
as bad as money
as passionate as the kinsmen that
beshrew me
with their (objective invectives)

i am struck by abject lowness
must try to unlearn myself
again & finally
i feel like stitched preferment
renewed
a pledge of truths
a pith of contradictions
& henceforth   a princess
NAY                     of blood
no pawns
untainted & drawn upon
take
take my head, kind sir
whilst my tongue can still wag
tis fit
i overpass in silence

the rain begins to pile upon itself
again
i am struck by prerogatives & stragglers
rogueships & familiarity do not come cheap
sentiment ever cease pithy imposture
screwed to distraction, persecution & torment
spiders
tormentors
i commend thee to importunity reprieved
t’ endangerment the harness & digest derision &
affronts

blood blossoms from my eye-lets
my skin punched full of
i live mutt’ring creeps
let me die in this lousy hole of hunger

i blow on the spider
it animates & scurries into a corner
feeling unseen
pink on pink wall
i feel contrary concealment
advertisement
a studious thief of candor
such another treasure the earth is bankrout of
i owe a fee of thankfulness to destiny
charity
simplicity
mercy
& oratory
to intolerable cruelty
& death
most of all to death
& its voluntary compulsion
i have the charm of witchcraft
blood shed
& stiff neck’d arrogance
this day of the week is ours
i soon travel home
the day of battle will be Monday
& let us pray the butchers spare us
coarse creatures are incapable of excellence
let the hangman come
tis most fit that my ripeness be the ambition
of your mercy
i am a man without parents
an orphan
a stone that might become polished glass
if harvested well
i must thank you who have infringed upon my liberty
brute beasts who have both rock & cave to fly back to
i dare both motion
herald sound
these birds that speak even thru the dense rain
traitors
it is my pleasure to dine with you next week
the fabric of my designs is tottering
my judging eyes blossom counterfeit tears
tis fit i overpass in silence
desperately miserable indeed
tis wise that i suffocate these obsolete phrases
tis brave i interrupt these obsolete words
for today
for right now
our bodies when purged of corrupted blood
can rise in good health
let me rise –  an orphan – a man without parents
find a place where i am welcomed
& beshrew the knowledge of our natures
for no more are we impassioned wild runagates
& the spider too shall one day vanish from our sight

so
dine with me next week
the hangman comes on tuesday
tis fit
tis only fit
that i should overpass in silence.

too related (for jim brodey) – Contemporary Poetry # 5 – summation

nyak road       from page
the bell of the church            &nbsppeeling

if everyone would have written a letter to Kerouac
saying how much he meant to them
how much they loved him
& how much he influenced them
he would have self destructed
even
sooner

a leaf blows in
thru
the open window.

RAGS

actually
the best things in life
are
not
FREE
career    color    hot    soup
power
luck
littering    smoking    spitting
radio   playing
yes    no    trust    shade
style  FACES  hours
Family   n.y.
pandora’s        box
relationships
skin
the madonna

actually if you ask the smoke about such things
like individuality   & heaven
you’ll find out sweet
lover
you’ll soon find
out.

Partita # 3

walt whitman
rivers don’t need money
but my eyes
invite a crossing
sometimes
a queen
a problem
another alternative
all these things
before my
birth &
pain


like the world
is a crossing
sometimes
a river
for which we now use
a camera
to ferry our faces
across.