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Waxen Acrylics

Merely an experimental malaise
spiraling numbly, likewise nimbly
the lame slither askew off the walkway
while naked dancers waltz precariously
too close to be social.

Chagall 2015

Rebirth Upon The Mainsail

I am screaming inside the wind tunnel
My fear a step before me always
I slide away down the aileron
I think I’ve eluded it but it’s there
Suddenly the diameter about me shrinks
I’m as stuck and clogged as I’m inside-out
Flapping rapidly a flag on a pole
I relish the maniacal cold tornado forming
Concentric debris pellets my froth
I am squeezed to projectile blessed to be carbon

Chagall 2015

A Dull Thick Plasma

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The gods came out of the water, paired in twos,
steam rising, their bodies already dry,
strong intent awake in their eyes, sacred defiance,
twins regaled in silk and gentian, he and she
beginning to copulate right there on the shore,
begetting each a greater God before perishing,
leaving the spawned throng of the heavens there
alone on the sand, arching, rearing, and bellowing.
And so was Day 1.

© Chagall 2015

The Sighting

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Did you see that?
It just flew by –
I’m pretty sure
it was life!

© Chagall 2015

Plainspeak

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I’m lazy tonight yet I want,
needy for quiet lethargy,
please love and allow me
to rest my head right here –
the scented nearness of you
is my universe, a place I yearn
incessantly.

© Chagall 2015

Eden Revisited

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He from the shower all clean
and I from the garden quite sweaty, we . . .
did the gate just click shut?

© Chagall 2015

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With little water for many weeks, today I found a small cactus
sprouted soft and smooth-skinned tendrils, still green, alive
like the curly hair of a young child, the candy-apple scent of talc
behind the ears, so many years ago; I gaze at it here on my palm
and hope it remains evergreen.

© Chagall 2015

Who Knew

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I was shocked to hear she would do such a thing
till he explained it was Mary the sister and not Sister Mary.

© Chagall 2015

Eden

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I all clean just from the shower,
and you from the garden still sweaty.
God, how good that was!

© Chagall 2015

The March of Little Soldiers

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What I thought were
tiny ants
were really splays of sun
that turned out to be
wee ants

© Chagall 2015

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