I stall to commence
as I have no intent
to ever let this end.
© Chagall, 2013
Archive for October, 2013
Strange,
how nothing moves.
The clockwork’s
stopped.
Sprung,
a gear, a female gear . . .
ray,
a drop of . . .
I move
too freely,
having been
here before.
Hawks
in the canopy,
whispers
in the wings.
Still alone
and quite alone,
are really not
the same.
© Chagall, 2013
I’m rum-numb lively
on cool-night sand.
Autumn-summer samba,
hot-wine clover.
Heated, I’d pull
the sweater down.
You sweat,
right?
© Chagall, 2013
Songbird,
only sound.
The day:
she and I.
Nothing moves –
barely.
Solely,
her eyes
so loosely
me.
Headless,
nay happy.
© Chagall, 2013
Know the things
you grow.
What they need
you’ll know
just by knowing.
In a range
of pH is
OK.
Good drainage
and aerate.
Listen,
they speak!
Rhizomes
will tangle,
don’t let them
know the things
you sow.
© Chagall, 2013
When you come to my garden,
look right just past the gate –
there’s a bone-white bowl
with raspberries picked
clean by hand,
each cane.
Taste them!
I’m sure
they’re pure.
Berries are good!
according to papilla polled.
No –
don’t you agree?
© Chagall, 2013
Bar-rail rage
hey – take it to the road!
wage war there
’cause here’s where I spend
my wages
I’ll take the tall red-head
wager she can whip
all y’all skinny
white-boy asses
© Chicheme, 2013
love
wholly
bless
holy
rain
pours
gazes
pore
over
linger
longer
your face
music
poems
your heart
holiest
love
wholly
blessed
© Chagall, 2013
We were going to war
when I mistakenly summoned
a rain-dance.
Now we must live
till the floods subside.
® Chagall, 2013
In the dark of morn
I dress backwards in my skivvies,
uncertain if I’m coming
or going.
🙂
© Chagall, 2013
Alphabet City 