💾 ❤️

Whether content or contrite,
the before, during and after the pair is destined to be infinite…

living is the trade we tread ~
and in the current is our movement
everything and nothing less
than our daily bread

sometimes slowly
mostly too swiftly
all of mine own(ed) becoming there and then in my every afterward
was what began a project I called writing stories differently

it taught, it wrought,
like a limb I came to depend
I knew when it began
and I knew when it had come to its end

liminal is quite the space for feeling new skin…

just when you think you’ve got it almost all figured out
surprise will come and ask you to dance
or less outright,
arrive as the bruise from a love that wasn’t right


and what of that friend you thought would be beside you to the end?
or the voice of a fellow you grew up with gone hallowed?
life’s occasions as arrangements moved them to live where memories mull them as echo
sometimes for diaphragm to swell
and other times in the ribcage like an elbow

the latter would imply that fate’s only attire is as a thief
forcing your empty-traversing some seven stages of grief
which is never brief


‘loss is tough…’ — they say

as it synchronizes them stumbles to eventually feel more sway

subliminal is quite the space for reeling new things…

and from both every content and all my contrites
mine birthed a chapter called reality sound bytes

kept going rowing flowing the haunts, taunts, and flaunts
as proud rants and many times them things to recant
something surer before and after rather than when in it
that’s the gravy that bubbles the gamut

then at some unplanned middle of no specific moment
you catch a glimmer that risks being mistaken as insane over arcane
but no!
it’s not supposed to be slew

that shimmer was sent and is meant just for you

and the mystery of poetry
becomes crystal in the context of your own history

your backstory that peddles for medals from pain before glory
like an almanac that reads (but only always afterward)
like a jar-full beads inscribed over on each
the obiter dictum derived
from each time you arrived

now imagine you had these before each darkened day



none of this would be
for things just as we should see
from glisten and to paint
as sinner and as saint

ever closer to dying as we create
for truths we will and won’t or can and cannot say…
I called my unplanned middle the Gallery of DNA

nothing-regiminal is quite the space for feeling new skin…
makes for genuinely apparent transparent from within — don’t you think?


if any perspective could enigma reflective for something directive
of where I should be headed to be
— me

if I could write chords they’d carrier these words
for something fuller-made that gathers throngs
from the rights I ride and the dongs I wrong
as something them other ears would hear and call —

soundhound from the playground
like treble and bass in both mono and surround
not specific for the prolific but just creating for free
something artistically…

everything other than nominal,
the infused informal is refuge as you divulge you quite like
the freckles that field-day your new skin
at any given moment and through every turn
for the goosebumps that galvanize your learnings to churn
pulse is present by the rhythm that affirms your place in this palladium…

…where even a silence would roar through tiered bleachers
your everything lived is your only real teacher

to remind back and forth
between your heart and your cranium
like touchdown at the greatest event
held in the galaxy’s grandest stadium

chance takers
music makers
zen rakers
claim stakers…
friendship defenders
shoulder lenders
truth defenders
bravery lenders…

passions more valuable than platinum
aren’t supposed to be infallible all-titanium
jealousy and venom are equi-parts of being all-human
the flip side of good times
— all parts of the skin you live in…

open the stadium
lauded from cranium

I call
the collective

to storm from latent or sate from liminal
and whether content or contrite…


Nothing indirect should be anybody else’s to label as incorrect. 


liminal is quite the space for feeling new skin.

For every you and for everything in me
like the dove to crave
given from a love made to save
and all we are destined to be
is some
of the sum
of everything here created.



© Dylan Balkind



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