I’m turned out tonight
to the cold
for you.
I’m a red scarf knotted
on the snow.
© Chagall 2013
Archive for November, 2013
From the limbs of this sycamore
I have watched the holy
come and go since ever,
the start of Time.
I, the repentant collector,
the kindhearted harlot,
the leper, the beggar,
the lush.
ironic, I’m saved
despite more pious
and deserving of the Love
most deserved.
How many nights
have I housed a Messiah,
supped on simple breads
while eternity draws
the spinning room
tight about makeshift cosmos
that hover there for the eve.
My, how the gods can juggle,
with appetites without end,
despite their not being
of earth and space.
And in the morning
they’re gone,
leave behind
small smears of blood
from where the wounds
still heal.
© Chagall 2013
And it’s my friends
who’ll be waiting,
they’ll attend,
await me.
I am coming down
within the hour.
I’ll be thirsty,
and hungry,
please drink me
and feed me
Burst us
deep from within.
© Chagall 2013
If we all,
tout le monde,
share one,
simply a moment
to rejoice
in freedom
that depends
on no one
or thing
other
than its own
desire to be,
it’s its own will.
I yearn,
so I crave,
I stretch in earnest
into only
hopeful things,
the art
of our possibilities,
the lyric wit
of our songs
our collective wit,
our prayerful songs.
And I love you best
perhaps by not knowing you
at all.
. . .
And you and I
will dive
from high towers . . .
© Chagall 2013
November yawns wide
expels expanses of cold
billowed crisp surround
© Chagall 2013
Hold your filly
steady in the stretch
gentle with your crop
use your rail-hand
while I churn
the lather
of steed between my legs
without nary a coax
but a soft whisper in her ear
girl-to-girl
so to speak
we glide by
in turf-flung gallop
we show our rumps
both elegant so
in wan light
amid snorts and whinnies
we win by a neck
at the wire
© Chagall 2013
packed knapsack
an artist’s knack
crayon on paper
acrylic lyricist
propelled rappeler
without rope
a bell tower
tall lean
prickly paper cuts
lemon burns
lapped turp
lipped tarp
curled carp
high on
Bunsen fuel
billed serpents
with furry burls
really mammals
mambo trampoline
politely vamp
with ass held high
and polished sway
a catapult
puffs a cloud
of talc
poof!
cutlery clatters
on linoleum
rhythmically
limerick
oddly lilt
trowel pickles
by limestone
at the edge
where patron saints
trumpet their forte
clarion peals
fortnightly
frolic
licorice
spears
parsley petals
picayune petty
pricks
their cucumbers
on plaques
Kewpie dolls
slick and porcelain
sling kisses
slap sickly
spill the classic
coke slice
picnic cakes
kick myself
trickle and tickle
the keys
skip lightly
phantasmic
categorically
dismissed
dismantled
and bewildered
© Chagall 2013
Birds sing and cry
till you realize
that’s all
there is.
© Chagall 2013
A woman
of no and every
color
waves to me
from the rooftop
before
she flies away.
I watch as her bubble
ascends . . .
the chevron
the V of pigeons
entangled in lines
alley music
heaven’s door framed
in mosaics.
© Chagall 2013
Alphabet City 