Friday, September 29, 2006

steve dalachinsky

The King's Waltz

waltz down carter lane by stellar starlit nite as it leads to the hornet's nest in a most sweet & inviting way. g(r)asping torched ill-fated tourist you be out of breath trudging toward that fateful day of breathlessness connected to the vagabond's steps. to the golden tone of the deep chi mr. whatsit spreads over you like warm dreamy juice. anonymous circle of sounds. strung things scratchy sublime ambient mythic classical classy outrageously aggressive abruptly ending homage to solitudes crowded with…. formless forms disappearing mutedly back into the summoned impressions from whence they've come with poise & more than that / > light where there may have be none /////

today i helped a blind man button his shirt

an invitation to the king's waltz by a band of rebel outsiders. anarchy's wishes twisted in the soup of hey we are all king's anyway so…..sure we'll have our cake & today i helped a severely handicapped man in a wheel chair …..

"of song of something better than a flower?" run plummed fragrances hint of sentimental moods as pleasant accidents and then they danced into particles of morning out the cruel cages of men…. traitors everywhere returning your bones to skin/dust & mindless greens exploding all ways… ******* these undreamt patterns reformed & torn as rain now falls & the tourist seeks shelter at an inn that is always full, beneath a bough that continually leaks "I will make good peace or no peace…. the firmness heaven has given you" what is contained in these foreboding melancholies… warmth that fools you but will not settle you down…. huff pufff pooof gone & in a flash resurrected by the diver in the dark - spun - shielded from a greater distance by not following the footsteps down toward conventional theory eerie post modern destiny of unlimited possibilities for there is no name given to the fortunes of "that which gleams & then does not…."

today i helped a woman up the stairs


clear delicate
under the "sun's melody"
part of the large eye of fire
that appears occasionally when
the states we pass thru while
turning into old men
as we return
to the children
we always

let us rest
we, the people,
the society
we never were -
dawn comes to our eyes
like the colors of
lit off like arbitrary fireworks
on a clear foggy night

friends make ourselves open to each other
like the sons of liberty we are

are we not here found in the spirit's far desires?

"why do you stay in prison when
the door is wide open?
open your hand if you want to be held"

"flow down.. in always widening rings of being"
this circle is now complete
sit quietly & listen
"you will hear the secrets hidden within the notes"

today i spent energies rearranging moments. my insides bore small fruits.
for the moment i am at peace.

steve dalachinsky nyc 9/29/06