Five poems and four collages by Steve Dalachinsky • Empty Mirror

actual size collage - Steve Dalachinsky“actual size” – Steve Dalachinsky

the blood hustle
(more than a lb. of flesh)

– “everything is somewhere else.”
– for gregory corso @ perazzo funeral home

nice suit gregory
simple deep rich brown velveteen
your not-so-pale skin
not as tight as i expected
not as artificially seamless
though certainly
not you

your closed eyes
a cloudy mirror of repose
thoughtful lips
you stink of flowers
really you
a fat
rosiness in what should be
the hollows of your
quite round & rosy
no cracks
but not really you

your vows of brutal beauty
though not broken
have been somewhat colored
by the undertaker
& your once scarring caresses
by your not-quite cold, impenitent

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

bellyciv10repl collage Steve Dalachinskybellyciv10repl

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
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
a pledge of truths
a pith of contradictions
& henceforth a princess
NAY of blood
no pawns
untainted & drawn upon
take my head, kind sir
whilst my tongue can still wag
tis fit
i overpass in silence

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

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
a studious thief of candor
such another treasure the earth is bankrout of
i owe a fee of thankfulness to destiny
& 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
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

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

steve dalachinky sasebo city, japan 5/19/06

bellyciv10repl collage Steve Dalachinskybellyciv10replbugged a lot - collage Steve Dalachinskybugged a lot

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

a leaf blows in
the open window.

steve dalachinky nyc


the best things in life
career color hot soup
littering smoking spitting
radio playing
yes no trust shade
style FACES hours
Family n.y.
pandora’s box
the madonna

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

steve dalachinky nyc

a bird in hand - collage by Steve Dalachinskya bird in hand

Partita # 3

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

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

steve dalachinsky nyc

About Steve Dalachinsky

Poet/collagist Steve Dalachinsky (September 26, 1946 – September 16, 2019) was born in Brooklyn after the last big war and managed to survive lots of little wars.

His latest CDs are The Fallout of Dreams with Dave Liebman and Richie Beirach (Roguart 2014) and ec(H)o-system with the French art-rock group, the Snobs (Bambalam 2015).

His most recent Business Relationships include Where Night and Day Become One: The French Poems / A Selection 1983-2017 (208 great weather for MEDIA), Fools Gold (2014 feral press), flying home, a collaboration with German visual artist Sig Bang Schmidt (Paris Lit Up Press 2015) and The Invisible Ray (Overpass Press – 2016) with artwork by Shalom Neuman.

Business Relationships Book