crippled symmetry
(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
                                                 pull back
                              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
                                              drink turpentine
                                glance at yourself in the bathroom mirror
                                                    smile fleetingly
                                                       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
                                                54 (?)
                                                               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*)(*(* &%
                                     intently listen
with it

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.