black-cherry-black: outlines objects
for those with night vision
I am cozy in its dark warmth
powder-blue-moonlight: stark relief
cooler gray shadows
night in the arbor lost-in-pink:
awake at first light
these are the deepest hues
breathe in
the petrichor
salty brine
lavender
© chagall ∞
Atop the sand painting
it is hot enough
to open the blessingway
to reverse
the radials of color
mosaics of first people
blessing, angering
I fear
the surface dead
coyotes and amorphous creatures
scare away the horses
in the hearth is bread
of corn and coarse black pepper
sweeter by summer squash flowers
© Chagall ∞
I leap for the net with big holes
hoping I’ll miss and fall through
to be a mastermind I dress the part,
strip down
the cement is just for weight dear
look who’s back in town!
once I fell
and bounced
only to fall again
and one time
I soared
rooflines ascending
the light on the bridge
a star and
a sky carpet
race
only
to lose
to time
somewhere
it’s rain
rivulets
lap over dappled gray rock
pondering whether
to ripple
this life is
a crazy puddle
I say thank you
in primary colors
each rung
I reach to
awash
eternal
somewhere
it’s storm
© Chagall ∞
I hate my Moleskin tablet
just way too much pressure
to get getting it right
the first
time
© Chagall ∞
Once in a landslide
I came to the edge
two steps away
from the fall
Carefully balanced
as if on trapeze
I prayed for
the crumble
To fall steady down
wind from anywhere
Anyone who cared could tell
I’d been asleep for a while
One final fingertip
scratches the ground
catching my breath
precedes free fall
then gravity
sinking, no water fills in the space
between me and the sky I float
down parting ways
Astride this time
unlike any I’ve ever ridden
must be the final wave
In crisp articulation
impressed on bottom sand
Running wild water angels
Awake in their trace
I lie down
© Chagall ∞
People come and go
On and off, red tail lights
Sidle and yaw away
Round about this time
hover low over
things that I ought
to remember
but now…
People want to go
sometimes you know
then it’s time
to recall
That’s when breezes still
It’s been zephyr time
all the while
And I fall
silently awash in a rush
unlike any I’ve known
If only
fingertips
People will come and go,
after all life is here
for a while
To separate finely
to last
© Chagall ∞
Writing is like wine: there’s too much good around to waste one’s time
with the bad…Hey! Where ya goin’?
© Chagall ∞
The Oracle reached across me
scented of myrrh and peppermint
her hair brushing my face
as she leaned in and whispered
hushed, seductive, wizened:
Carlos, my love, you must know
that across this earth, nay
the universe large, we are living
in the age of the asshole.
Chagall 2015
I am intrigued by her etcetera,
the ellipsis she dangles without
modifier, the comma of her petulant
being, the subtle contour of her fonts,
the page she splays open while she sings
hymns to the bare branch, the storm
she incites with mere thought. She needs
no blessing nor permission to spin
maniacally as she pleases, a dervish,
a twirl.
© Chagall ∞
She had a conniption at his addition
Of a fourth dot to the ellipsis
But it’s the end of a sentence he sighed
Oh God, yes she replied
With a moan made in heaven, mellifluous
© Chagall ∞
