The Glass Eye

Steve Dalachinsky
September 2017

the glass eye
(carol rama at the new museum)

“i didn’t have any painters as masters …the sense of sin is my master.”

– carol rama 1981

i saw my portrait on your wall
all my missing teeth & one
glass eye
buried I was beneath it’s weight
the bourgeoisie had checked  their feet
at the door
their hands grabbed air(e)as if it were the key
or maybe the latch or hingeto/of their octopus breaths
cannibals that they are
determined to eat my testicles…
i was sewn up like corona & dead screws
of young boy’s cap
his flip-flops gauzed across my hessian forehead
my good eye jutting from the raw canvas map
like an unlaced combat boot
designed for combat  in a singles bar
her ass was petite as was the rest of her body
her tattoos rang like pagan ear flaps
across the back-licking dick-grabbing UNIX
sitting atop the Biblioteca Municipale  aka
la museo de commerce
they spoke loudly to each other
the less-than-curious patrons
onlookers @ their own demise
trapt in my plastic eye
as if in a deflated ever-stretching inner tube
suicidal & ready to be patched & re-punctured
their lives whispered suggestions
their genitals still lifes

she puts her hands behind her back
categorized temples / templates for
glass eyes
her shoulders bare
shoes whitesmile pale
teeth soaked in alcoholtattoos always off guard
my male foot flattered by the holes &
callouses produced by walking
my tongue another way/method of fulfilling
said progressive flattery
my bloody tong(u)es
my lusting ear
buried oh so deep within the cavity cases
of found time / a flow chart of course(s)
unleashed against the bandits of silence
always absorbing they’re gossip
seductive butchery,  false omens
& teeth

I dedicate this writing to the caretakers of the snake pit
To disseminated rodents everywhere to all the limbless & the limns
They lost – may you all be reunited – I give you back your name
Your original sin – your illness – your MENTAL  & maintenance
Your passionate organs your hierarchy you’re lack of anatomyYour
internal needs your honest need for possession of your mother’s soul

(she has left the room  you enter)  we talk / discuss / agree
curtains of flayed & shredded flesh /  personas / interiors / exteriors
& the inferior progress of the world – it’s needs &
lack thereof >   teachings gone haywire
petty psycho dramas    of maximum proportions
eyeless golden fox(pelt)
artauded body sans organs/frets

“there is never more space than time…”  &  every thing is ecology

the hole(s) must come out of the multiples that nourish & sustain us
my glass eye burns from the treatment inflicted upon it
i am made irreversibly impotent
as he enters the room dragging his feet across the floor
as if on a hot sandy beach     dDiIcCkKfFaArTtAaTt
a deranged beast of burden forced to eat meat
surrounding my “female hysteria”
clinging   ever clinging   to a UNION in disarray
simply because i have to
the way a pet who tastes it’s freedom has to
as it returns to the past to seek refuge      a disharmonious refuge
my eye just another dot on the MAP       a dried up urinal
i a mad cow diseased by its own passion(s)


“we all have our own tropical disease within us.”

your wedding dress  a nonexistent fetish of loss
your long tangled hair  a heroic gift    2  sad wings
an epiphany of rags 

        ( “not that i don’t get excited by my work…  i don’t….    < >  i use it to incite”

                                           “my work is my sex” )

YOU NIPPLE   >   a tarp that covers one’s genitalia  >

still lifes     foreign   present    common   useful/useless items

              cold-blooded frogs   stomach aches   theater    scandalous remedies  heretics

        “ we are provisional so it is important to have a criminal side to us.”

i need your teeth       your one good eye    please take my com(m)a

               BABIES  >  pornographic syringes >   “WOUNDS of MEMORY”

          “in my opinion loving my work is better than having sex.”

                     (all lines in quotes by carol rama)

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