Steve Dalachinsky
Steve Dalachinsky writes: "the insomnia poems were written in n.y. in 2003 and first published as a limited edition chapbook by sisyphus press and propaganda press."
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time squared
the woman in white
i saw her today on broadway
across from the bertelsmann blding
a mega virgin
w/e-mail as well as voice
a lone male
for a moment
then the herd returns
still alone writing this on corner
of 46th
heard of planet Hollywood
tho never been
the hershey store smelling
like what else — chocolate
colony records lp section closed
me the point of a compass
passerbys sweeping by
like an all points bulletin
this side of the street
she says this side she says
i thought it was on this side of the street
she says you guys it's on this side
wherever i stand i am always in someone's way
— a domestic wind
blowing thru my newly found
oversized overcoat.written in times square 11/17/05
MIDNiGHT/NOON — the insomnia poems
a series of poems dedicated to the Insomnia Drawings of Louise Bourgeois wherein 17 poems do hereby represent
220 drawings......something for one to think about while lying awake at night.....
“i love you because you make me feel good.”
— L.B. from the Insomnia Drawings
for the person who has everything & wants more........try insomnia
1.
stuck in geometry & its antecedents
counting 6’s
clock (s)ticks caught in repetition & sequence
i.e. dripping water the slight variance of sound
each drop minutely painfully different than the next music of holes
descend within the 6’s.
2.
red a color i have aspired to be made of
but not covered in
in winter i will lie with a big white lily
beneath the blankets
close to my chest
& a red mum on the pillow
beside my head
3.
lying here in bed shackled to my fatigue waiting for the phone call
that will eventually come then your voice
4.
i’m not good @ small talk
i have so much anger i could burn up the world
the pillow extends to the river
the velvet reflects all shiny & red
within the trumpets’ bells
they are lined up & lined w/gold
like the sounds names make
as they are extended into the river
wade a bit
then drop to the bottom
toward the mud
the water will extinguish the flame.
5.
blue as the light fell blue as the night fell blue as the light fell blue
pardon this pause yawn eyesting
into the once upon into the gone into the i recall into the blue
on the fine line within the fine line pause yawn into the once upon into the gone.
6.
the brevity of sleep
fell asleep for a briefness
dreamt 2 duelists to the death
scored & scored eachother’s flesh
til only bone remained
one had a wooden leg
& even there the other
sliced & splintered to the marrow meat revealed red ‘came sad inside.
7.
it was 4 o’clock in the morning
& all of a sudden the olives started talking really loud.
you know the green kind
with the rich red pimento
center.
8.
i cried for my newly dead friend
in my dream
i cried because there was nothing left to
say
my crying woke me up
& this was proof enough that i had finally
fallen asleep.
(if robert died that means he’s dead.)
9.
the branches become snakes
the knife blades fire
the bristles of the brush become match tips
hanging
things always
hanging
10.
i close my eyes like a book that i am too tired to read
a tune plays itself in my head
over & over again
as if it needed to get to know me
my eyes,that is,
open by themselves,
but thru the long & uneventful night remain unread.
11.
i tried to count buttons
the seeds from a sunflower
the circle formed by 2 lovers
kissing & when i fell for an instance
i dreamt of an ailing poet
playing a trombone
12.
looked for myself beneath the magnifying glass
within the whiteness of sleep
i looked for the seasons
& captured spring
i longed for myself
without getting up to pee
without yawning or working or watching the late nite news
& what i found & what i felt were the springs of the mattress
digging into my ribcage & hip.
13.
no wind
3:24 a.m.
i can tell by the cough
it’s a man.
4 a.m.
i feel like the medicated dog of a famous author
as she rubs my stomach.
14.
insomnia is mostly circular
then lines & waves like the passage of time or the flowers of trees
the bedding down of bodies embraced & betrayed by life & myth
interlocking mounds of dust portraits of hanged skin & geometry’s
profiles of water a dilating compass the crisscross & nearmiss
of river & ocean of tide & shore
elevated above the treeline there is a winding road i am there somewhere
patches of moist hrs devour the clock as they gnaw at me
it is a continuous loop well travelled
& i am always so tired
15.
sometimes i can only imagine my body
one small reflection in a landslide of mirrors
16.
this rain has ruined the roses
it is a continuous loop we travel
so tired
insomnia’s a circle & we can only imagine the bodies of others
the woman in the moon is lost
& as i went looking for her last night
my branch began to blossom
but this rain’s left no room for the roses
& spring never really arrived.
17.
the voice of the bird
is stuck somewhere between 5&6 in the morning
it is thick with notes
it opens suddenly & just as suddenly
falls silent
i am the only one awake to hear it
the dangerous hrs are between midnite & noon
it is here that i have nowhere to go
i am not safe even in my own bed
what i fear most is rejection & death
the bird having had a bad dream
woke for an instant
then fell mute then fell back to sleep
realizing it was still too early to share morning
where is the bird?
the one who is responsible for the salvation of a handful of cripples.
i will write my will when i write it
i am willing to do this
to be the one responsible for saving a handful of cripples
where is he?
how were so many of us fooled?
i am stuck between the ticks of the clock counting 6’s 24 is a safe # for some
Steve Dalachinsky writes: "the insomnia poems were written in n.y. in 2003 and first published as a limited edition chapbook by sisyphus press and propaganda press."