Steve Dalachinsky

pome for mathew shipp so/lo @ tribes 3/13/10

fly me
to the roses
as rain drops
where the fingers
grab &
open you up
here it's a rickety blend
of abrasion & persuasion
just before spring
long past the fallen
leaves
moonless after 3 days
of rain
flooded by intoxia
& relative 'chosis
of da whirlin-cloud-fan
within a non-aligned tropism
particles of culture > broken
scarred connective tissue

looking back over her shoulder
even a flower defies the changes
changes as even its colors
begin to too
another you within a system
where intelligence dances
1000,000 light years
from here
a retaliation of dancers
splitting their wills
taking this damp, dripping desire
to create
spinning it dry
phrase as focal point
opening the valves of the valentine
while jamming it with jelliman
as some of us begin to rise
while others begin to
fall.