Steve Dalachinsky


these wild days

gracias senor por la vida
gracias senor por favor

these wild days & just desserts
spilled coffee
chalk flowers & green tables
these afflicted hours
false as refined sugar
equal to zoos of ruins
you wouldn't want to know how i feel today
you wouldn't want to believe the empty contents
of this waterlogged box
all the lists in the world contained within its window
the way the flag faces downward
mourning? shame?
iridescent street signs of black silhouettes
crossing full mouthes
damp rainy auto-soaked linens
dogs w/whiskered grins
flipflopping cellphons
injectory cloud cover
full mouths chewing & talking behind glass
a glass mime
the soothsayers doomseekers & clowns are right
were probably right for the past 60 yrs
this is ww3
has been world war 3
his   ball    uh     her ball
8 ball in the corner
pockets empty
these wild days & auditory silences
glass mouths shattering as they speak
heads bowed       in mourning?
or looking for loose coins?
swashbuckles awash in the cloister
the question of caine being able
sugar coated wrong/rights
it's a 2 way street / a compromise /
we can't have one proudly serving actress speak for us all
glass tongue stoned wagging & splintered

this is my french toast
my bowl of fruit
fine sweet cinnamon
reserve your own space in this place
make room if there is none
even comestibles are combustible
these wild days

the woman at the next table
i would never keep her waiting

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