is this pome surreal?
Steve Dalachinsky
windshield/
s the weather
in turn we graduate
weak soldiers
into bubbly corpses
gambling w/the hereafter
as if it were the 5th season
rope-gathering birds assasinated by the undergrowth
tinted
decisions / all blurry & watery & bridaled
a sequenced onyd or off
it as far as thrown from a horse or wild-pitched moment
contained in this toosweet cup - o' - java
& ytame stitched to presnant idols -
racey photos
if photos could move epochly
the way they already mercilously speak
the eyes
limbs
will reason a brilliant yet teasing look into
the bottomless flatness
a still life letter aiding continuum
as mouth shapes loops of deadly fruit
& apologies
visceral pumping valentines
a stranded bride
storm
train schedules &
bouquets
monthes sliced thin by the burden of age
nails thru the serpent's head
last night
mother barked at me
head bare
an unrelenting animal breathing in the stink of the streets
& babble
exits & lazy wildlife guided by a series of misleading clues
i can only guess how awake
these heads of state are
viewed from the back
here amongst
the fish tank's bubbling
oh sewing machine
mend my torn yet seamless
innards.
steve dalachinsky nyc 10/30/05 at cloisters cafe