(morton feldman performed by s.e.m. ensemble@new york studio school 4/3/05)
mesh of gold/afloodstars
this is why crippled the leg always tries to rectify itself
verify tolerance / total spin cluster / why do you melt of the sheen
a double-backed diamond enamored of itself
high in the low-tones
grappling w/ the whole range of whiteness?
why so many bare & pockmarked walls in a structure so filled with its own knowledge
purpled pomped mallets
creased blue curtains exposing the fluted pale
lowbreathing carrier of greenglassed arpeggios
what is wrong w/ this picture is there is no picture
but what is wrong with blank space repeating itself?
is blank space truly blank as blank is?
why is there maiden transfixed when there are no maidens left to transfix?
a so lid tightly a jar was this lip a crossed/out patchwork
of genocide’s attempt to corrupt itself?
it self always @ the fore of my self your self by self by self one’s & left everyone else be
………… damned this nagging notated pang. hands that drew the once blue silence
now emptied into emptiness. but what is so bad about blank space?
what is blank? why are these pocked & primed bare walls considered bare?
what is empty or full? what does filled with emptiness mean?
Longing? patches & spots of color on the earth brown floor
like there a spot of red & here a spill of animal yellow&orange
i can swim thru the hole in the broken brick
gnaw thru the metal’s facade
what there is is more of the same
& more of the same is what there is but different
a crack in the quietude a sneeze a cough a rustle a rumble a low driven mimic
a crumble of what-is-where-from
& the crippling ringing of LIFE
an o.k. survival kit
peek into space thru doorless doorway
look around sky itself is the skylight
see streaks of pale blue on earth-colored
semi-circles of off colored creams
hit your forehead with your palm
scream OH NO loudly
inside your head
wash your hands of the whole affair
as your stomach begins to rumble like a coming quake
glance at yourself in the bathroom mirror
walk into a stall
sit on the bowl & wait
a mesh of starlike petals unlock themselves from their grid………
nothing left to follow.
piano lays out
12 17 (drops off the quantum )
30 24/ 30 36
working in *8’s scale of
re mi fa circular linearities
forced to ignore 26/26/22/36// or
42 nothing matters 48/28
mathematics reg ///
4 / 4 / 8 10 6
stered 18 – 24 < 60
fence barelegged belch boo
htdtAfbnmkxysu5ereNB VC567*)(*(* &%
Poet/collagist Steve Dalachinsky was born in Brooklyn. He is the author of many books, most recently when night and day become one – the french poems (great weather for MEDIA, 2018), and has read his poetry on many albums.