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PIECES OF THE MOON - DAVID S. WARE RECORDING SESSION
by Steve Dalachinsky

1.   Love Poem


             greet me
                              give me your desires

                 float with me until range of
                            des(s)erts filters
                      thru heart / flavored lips
send me a postcard
       from your snatch
          i'll stamp it with my tongue
                             then bite off a piece of the moon
                   for me.


2.   all the way down
                           “tomorrow is the rush hour “ - William Parker

            all the way down into
     the blues
                   & away
       all the way past
                         all the way
         from the depths
                to
 all the way down
                     the jaws
                             rich squeal of linear
       wheeling
                       sovereign past
 & dark teeth
             all the way down
                  thru reds & gaping whites
                          & away
             onto & slide beyond the edge of
                         this earth
          thru jettisoned luminosity
 (the moon's generosity)
                      all the way down
       all the way down
                         to the bottom of your shoes.


3.    the force

the force
the commodity
the discharge & hustle
the flavor of a native land
never seen
but
heard
tasted
smelled

the land of birth
discounting
your very bullet-prone
boredom
the isolation & falling
series
brutal attacks upon
unborn levels of
the cry
               ascend
   your call & the hard crisis of wills
           flush ducts of oddity
                    your fingers in the future
                            forage thru the fragments
                                         of tomorrow (pieces of moon/pale.)

4.    the model family

                car
                 crash      CLOCK
                                               together bright lights slam doors into your eyes
                                   where are you now?
                                                               the moon perhaps?
your stomach holds itself together
with greed intent      & deceit
your mouth a bowl of pits
spit into the careless nite  - pieces of where you are perhaps?

ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh    uhmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm
                                            ahhhhhhh   uhmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm
                      gurgling gurgling          not gurgling
                                    it's ok. leave the door open. we'll find you.

5.    organic form (cadenza)

           crisp
                       not the dull colors of
       morning
                       crisp
                                 now en masse the colors disperse
                                      with the oncoming cold
               pushed
                           the music bounces from one skin to another
                  on cloud to another moving eastward
                               northward moving the skin outward up &
                downward

  the crowd gathers for the matinee performance of “GYPSY”
                    wearing evening clothes
                                  a ghost of a moon hangs there
           we - even the rooted - are gypsies
                       crisp  active  sensing  the cadenza pushing
                                             under the heart.

6.    soundbound

a new blues
in & beyond
tradition.
immediate &
bound
for the
21st century
a broadish wall of
chaotic sobs
heavy cymbal
tym
pan
i
unbound
sound
bound
the
blues
new
dues.

7.    afternoon rush

               the moon
        over the afternoon rush
                a miserable beauty
                      that saturates the streets with its lips
              mountainous air drumming softly on cloudless lite
                     & i was myself with the wind
                           like those endless carp
                                   swimming from the roofs of young boys
                                                     all over the ancient east

           up & down
                      the meters on the board
                              boring into me
                                        to bear me to where the moon sits
                                                    this afternoon.

8.    society of grain

inaccurate epigraph

in the absence of grain
2 moons the cyclist rides thru
the nite
reddened shadow / doppelganger
  runs behind him in deep nite
where the knots of wood
amidst the absence of grain
appear   spoken like retreads
                 in a wilderness of moons

pale against the cloudy tiles
a lifenet pushing frail motion away
now.

    moon   eat it
                sip it   moon
     high or low
                           moon professional /fantastic / clean surfaces
                rough surfaces / delicate surfaces
                                           moon non - abrasive moon
sad eyes thru glass / wood / moon wood / fire moon / lint moon.


9.    there will never be

in the midst of
warm winter afternoon
saxophone
moon hung
no added lite
no memory
enclosed in this room
before nite falls
fails one final time
i will not look for nor expect
will not add or subtract
or wipe away
sense play or remove
this
moon.

 



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