They come,
they eat our food,
they sleep in our beds,
and sometimes they take our women…
brothers-in-law – who needs ’em!
Chagall 2019
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I wait, unable to proceed:
the interim
between here and neither
I’ve petals to be picked
an about-face looms
if time shall pass
unable to start, this cusp
lines finely the point of departure
to no return, to no avail
how I wish it would rain,
turn drizzle to pellets
to floods, wash over me
watch over me
someone anywhere
ensnarled: this space
within prayer
Chagall 2019
I’m so cool
that brain freeze
thaws me
Chagall 2019
The Special today is
all you can dream.
Chagall 2019
Watering the garden
I startled a rabbit
appeared to be lost
in prayer
She bolted a bit past the underbrush
but then turned and asked,
“Are you God?”
Chagall 2019
So accustomed to us
we are, and so unaware
of the alien inside
Chagall 2019
The untanned flesh
between her breasts
stands out like the cream
of an Oreo
Chagall 2019
Drizzle in the wetlands,
not rain but from morning’s
dewey canopy, the aroma
of green steam off the ferns,
joyous caws, mournful bellow
of doves, deep, resonant,
the sound of blowing into bottles,
sun so perfectly fractured into rays
catches ascending dust and insects,
tiny angels on the fly, I am so alive
without any hesitation to declare
indeed there is God.
Chagall 2019
Bugs who fly into your eye
are definitely suicidal.
Chagall 2019
I love the feeling when knickers slip off,
as waistbands start to descend
Chagall 2019
