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benefit for the bass - William Parker (s)olo(s)
by Steve Dalachinsky

i was scared
ready to crawl thru any dream
positive dream
negative dream
fierce dream
eyes open conditioned vigilance
bow tapping strings double wisdom
fingers plunketing
eyes closed less from sleep
than imagining
personification of sound
                                   idea gotten
     tight roping around the place on tiptoe
                bowstringing vibrations
       between these spaces yes here too there is sound
               forgetting place stones placed in piles
                    bllllllllllip blllllllllip ruuuuuuffff ggggggggg
          sunblind in dark caves consigned to wear destiny's hat
             heightened language what is this ??
                     how can i express these sounds with letters
              words gallops banging whirling lahoobieloops
                    throughout these encounters with my very own mouth
                                     tongue sputtering strings spluttering
                         like the speaks of safe & borrowed birds.

                yes my brother too was born
                   string & backbone break
           there is no deep meaning to death
                 pound wood gut
               only its longevity pinned to the wall
like the scribblings of children & adults
                              scratchy dualities
                 tongues run & watching juices
             scratching scarrrrrattcchhhhing
          duets between the footsteps of children & their word
                    hands/fingers/wood/holes/air/string & backbone/break
               parrots & men dogs & men
                     responses to language of soft grasses (bending) beneath snow
           dry milkweed stationary in a winter sky

the blanket you wear
like a lamp thru the window
in a house & the shadow it creates
sound is like shadow & reflection (off off white within shade)
                    oo oo ahhh dah oo blllldldpowpowpowpowpowpppowpoowow
             lines pierced diamond blanket currents of woody exxaaaas paint
                       i am a set of even-bristled brushes
                           waiting to be soaked
              a poinsettia reddening in a small room
                                   an urn on a false column of pure intent
                                         a truckful of angels
                          a blue suitcase
                               blue bag
                   blue tablecloth
                              blue chair funky rhythms fading
         blue towel to wipe your hands on
                          (i personalize the truth while you never forget the suffering of others)
                          a blue truck full of broken angels
                                 with bright blue wings & breasts
             a blue bike to ride
                   blue jar to fill unfill
                               blue sweater to warm you
                                   blue open gem
                                   a background of blue for you to fade into
                          celestial blue blue cell
                               wall of ancient texture (texture(s) that is what describes this best)
                            a classical example b.c.
                                      a blue shell for you to hear your music in
                                              red handle to get a handle on
                          bird's blue song & dry flowers

it was '38 my sister was born
             i '46 father 1911 mother i never remember 1914 perhaps
                       or never knew along with the rest of the crazy world

           yellow   sound

it was only then whenever then was
    that things began to happen.



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