20170815

Steve Dalachinsky



time squared


the woman in white

i saw her today on broadway

across from the bertelsmann blding

      a mega virgin

w/e-mail as well as voice 

        mail 

 a lone male 

     for a moment

           then the herd returns

                 still alone writing this on corner

                             of 46th

  heard of planet Hollywood

        tho never been

            the hershey store smelling

like what else  —         chocolate

         colony records lp section closed

                          me the point of a compass

           passerbys sweeping by  

                         like an all points bulletin 

                             this side of the street

  she says this side           she says

i thought it was on this side of the street

    she says   you guys it's on this side



wherever i stand  i am always in someone's way

              —   a domestic wind

                      blowing thru my newly found

                                                   oversized overcoat.

written in times square 11/17/05
MIDNiGHT/NOON — the insomnia poems a series of poems dedicated to the Insomnia Drawings of Louise Bourgeois wherein 17 poems do hereby represent 220 drawings......something for one to think about while lying awake at night..... “i love you because you make me feel good.” — L.B. from the Insomnia Drawings for the person who has everything & wants more........try insomnia 1. stuck in geometry & its antecedents counting 6’s clock (s)ticks caught in repetition & sequence i.e. dripping water the slight variance of sound each drop minutely painfully different than the next music of holes descend within the 6’s. 2. red a color i have aspired to be made of but not covered in in winter i will lie with a big white lily beneath the blankets close to my chest & a red mum on the pillow beside my head 3. lying here in bed shackled to my fatigue waiting for the phone call that will eventually come then your voice 4. i’m not good @ small talk i have so much anger i could burn up the world the pillow extends to the river the velvet reflects all shiny & red within the trumpets’ bells they are lined up & lined w/gold like the sounds names make as they are extended into the river wade a bit then drop to the bottom toward the mud the water will extinguish the flame. 5. blue as the light fell blue as the night fell blue as the light fell blue pardon this pause yawn eyesting into the once upon into the gone into the i recall into the blue on the fine line within the fine line pause yawn into the once upon into the gone. 6. the brevity of sleep fell asleep for a briefness dreamt 2 duelists to the death scored & scored eachother’s flesh til only bone remained one had a wooden leg & even there the other sliced & splintered to the marrow meat revealed red ‘came sad inside. 7. it was 4 o’clock in the morning & all of a sudden the olives started talking really loud. you know the green kind with the rich red pimento center. 8. i cried for my newly dead friend in my dream i cried because there was nothing left to say my crying woke me up & this was proof enough that i had finally fallen asleep. (if robert died that means he’s dead.) 9. the branches become snakes the knife blades fire the bristles of the brush become match tips hanging things always hanging 10. i close my eyes like a book that i am too tired to read a tune plays itself in my head over & over again as if it needed to get to know me my eyes,that is, open by themselves, but thru the long & uneventful night remain unread. 11. i tried to count buttons the seeds from a sunflower the circle formed by 2 lovers kissing & when i fell for an instance i dreamt of an ailing poet playing a trombone 12. looked for myself beneath the magnifying glass within the whiteness of sleep i looked for the seasons & captured spring i longed for myself without getting up to pee without yawning or working or watching the late nite news & what i found & what i felt were the springs of the mattress digging into my ribcage & hip. 13. no wind 3:24 a.m. i can tell by the cough it’s a man. 4 a.m. i feel like the medicated dog of a famous author as she rubs my stomach. 14. insomnia is mostly circular then lines & waves like the passage of time or the flowers of trees the bedding down of bodies embraced & betrayed by life & myth interlocking mounds of dust portraits of hanged skin & geometry’s profiles of water a dilating compass the crisscross & nearmiss of river & ocean of tide & shore elevated above the treeline there is a winding road i am there somewhere patches of moist hrs devour the clock as they gnaw at me it is a continuous loop well travelled & i am always so tired 15. sometimes i can only imagine my body one small reflection in a landslide of mirrors 16. this rain has ruined the roses it is a continuous loop we travel so tired insomnia’s a circle & we can only imagine the bodies of others the woman in the moon is lost & as i went looking for her last night my branch began to blossom but this rain’s left no room for the roses & spring never really arrived. 17. the voice of the bird is stuck somewhere between 5&6 in the morning it is thick with notes it opens suddenly & just as suddenly falls silent i am the only one awake to hear it the dangerous hrs are between midnite & noon it is here that i have nowhere to go i am not safe even in my own bed what i fear most is rejection & death the bird having had a bad dream woke for an instant then fell mute then fell back to sleep realizing it was still too early to share morning where is the bird? the one who is responsible for the salvation of a handful of cripples. i will write my will when i write it i am willing to do this to be the one responsible for saving a handful of cripples where is he? how were so many of us fooled? i am stuck between the ticks of the clock counting 6’s 24 is a safe # for some


Steve Dalachinsky writes: "the insomnia poems were written in n.y. in 2003 and first published as a limited edition chapbook by sisyphus press and propaganda press."
 
 
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