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Sans Matériel

I feel like a dying match that rotates through space,
bends and contorts to consume the remainder of its own flame:
to perpetuate the light 

the darkness for now awaits just a moment longer...

Chagall 2020

Multi Ply

Today I am sporting heavier sleeves
on which I shall wear my heart

Chagall 2020

One for Ripley’s

Stoned, not impaired

Chagall 2020

A’int It Though

This morning I share a small bowl of very fine cannabis
with a praying mantis I find clung to my porch screen

She there on the outside, I face her soft underbelly,
through the mesh I stroke her legs and arms, antennae,
and admire that swivel-head so human 

I blow wafts of smoke her way, tiny shotguns, 
imagining her sharp inhales, filling her receptors, 
until she is giddy there in the pink sun rising, 
raising her prayers up

She swivels her head to me and I swear I hear
Got any cookies?

Chagall 2020

.008s

I strung my guitar 
with very light strings,
left it outside for the wind to play

Joy
sorrow
complacency
foreboding

all in the very first verse

Chagall 2020

Like A Bra

...and all the things that I would do,
on this final day go undone

Chagall 2020

Next Around

I'm not quite sure yet if I fear death,
for I've excelled in end-games till now

how odd to carry this voice inside,
still odder to be disembodied

afloat among meadows, amid almond trees

ah, to be a pollinator burgeoned with pollen 
from star-flowers, asleep on the morning petal

with nothing to dew

Chagall 2020

The Trick is to Keep…

I could always excite more buzz
than there really was, more Saturdays a week than 
just two, more full moons monthly than the usual handful,
this eternal and repeating last kiss

I once brought starlight to wonder,
a willow to her knees, a vernal pool to tears

I've gone through four pairs of feet from dancing
too many nights away, too many years ago

I can still sense you when I exhale,
in that warm deep rush of air, 
the aroma of lingering touch

I will always defer going to sleep 
in favor of living on

Chagall 2020

Suppers On!

To the hummingbird I am 
the Provider of the Nectar,
the god behind the fine porch screen,
the shiny egg-shaped being who carries 
the bright red feeder

Chagall 2020

Diminished Returns

They don't even make loved ones
like they used to

Chagall 2020
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