Mastodon the perfect child - steve dalachinsky - Poetry - Sensitive Skin Magazine

the perfect child

i am a descendant of those that have survived for centuries
& my mother wanted me to be the perfect child
i am still amazed that people know how to make doors
their ingenuity baffles me
way beyond that of a beaver & its dam
a beehive full of hungry workers
an ant colony
or a violent dream

crossing guards bear witness
where the vision of others fails
this is the basis for massive liquidity
a mitigation pushed to its cause
liquidity: the way a tour begins
a short speech perhaps before the walk begins
i am in awe of the fact that towns are summoned
from dust
buildings are erected
cities born
bottles of liquidity / high picon light
within passages of long narrow space
the sudden insistent tickling of an alarm
on the clock’s worn face
in a dark pocket
it never happened before
this act as natural as the body behind me
that breathes down my neck
i will be your tour guide
as you walk between these shadows
we so fondly cling to
yet so often forget are there
INCREDIBLE that they are there don’t you think?

i am still amazed by breath or is that: at BREATH?
the action of breath / breathing
the very motion of its invisibility
one of the best pieces of instance i have ever heard
for instance the CIRCLE begins HERE opens here
when a bargain @ any price begun
an avenue full of DENSE / Ness
i want so much to be this PERFECT CHILD
its purpose A GUIDE – i want to walk to guide you
to take your hand – house you but maybe not feed & cloth you
as the MOTTO goes: spill your beings – all 2 of you – en masse
massive YOUS & that perfectly rounded naked shoulder
as if blushing in the pale red light
the black thin strap / holding the hatting
breeze on my back the hatting breeze – the sticky liquid beneath my chin
these massive bodies > la jolla in it the gravity of a circle
the circle that begins begets or price jam let me bond overdosing itself
write about like a tour you sometimes take thru this dark room
on bright avenue or a shallow light spilling into your glass like an unpainted city

have no fear i am a perfect, far from perfect child – so let me be your tour guide
let me guide you on this tour this breeze a breeze where does it come from
this BREEZE ????

completed 11/6/14 3 fragments from 10 & 11/14

Tom McGlynn_Terra Haute600

Terra-Haute, acrylic gouache on panel, 2012, by Tom McGlynn

–steve dalachinsky

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Painting Poetry

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