The wind tonight
moans like a pan flute lover
on the crest in salted foam
searching aqua on the black
I pray for boughs from the arbor
round as thighs, engorged with snow
frozen crisp, ready to break
free, to collapse the roof
and bury us deep in the rubble
© Chagall 2014
The slower snow is content to flurry
but hastened to blizzard
by crazed young flakes
so all the world’s a-swirl
© Chagall 2014
Tatted lace about the heart
of the secretly admired
is over time tattered.
Let’s not unveil our eyes,
not yet.
The spun world
welcomes lovers,
you’ve heard
the old song say.
It all comes undone,
your hair, your belt,
your inner peace,
when this reddest heart’s
at bay.
I will cherish
your innocence
until I won’t,
so sadly.
Farewell love,
time will have
no need to heal
this time.
Starched white tatting
hold sway, this Happy
St. Valentines Day.
© Chagall 2014
I was unable to reach any conclusions
with the ladder she’d provided
foregone or otherwise,
though I drew upon her wisdom
first with crayons
and then acrylics
in my second trimester
of expecting change
for better or worse
whichever came first
depending on the speed
of her stroke
time marches to a sweep
smaller than a second-hand
takes away
what the hour gives
broad arcs on which we ride
to evade the flood
two by two
concussive blows from
two by fours
do-see-do and curtsies
picking at nits
and daisy petals
she loathes me
she loathes me lots
the bathrobe I recognize
but whose sari now?
© Chagall 2014
There’s a song we sing in the mountains
When clouds envelop the peaks
As stars overwhelm the senses
Our hymns overcome the air
We are born to be celestial
From star to dust to star
We constellate in the shape
Of beautifully human
© Chagall 2014
I’m not saying attempt it anew
listen closely and read my lips:
Trite again!
© Chagall 2014
The line was intended for someone to say
You’re lucky enough to have gotten to write it
And maybe that’s all that there was
With nothing more to expect
I though I’d be crushed
with you being less
© Chagall 2014
You can’t orient yourself in the dark, accept that. Without exception
Everything’s inclusive or nothing at all. Flip an edgeless coin
And yet, there it stands. Use your imagination if there’s a next time
You need a crutch to suppress the limp
Raggedy soul you bare from the backside of your jammies.
Bedtime stories unfold their plots like grave sites yawn say Ahh
I’ve seen worse, the better off I got. My last job
I toppled angels from pinheads and threw them over shoulders
For luck.
© Chagall 2014
I forgot
all you now know
while you were still
in utero
© Chagall 2014
The universe births creatures
Unfolds them from the void.
Elisabeth pops towels and sheets
Clearly unwrinkled
From the dryer, driest
When cynical. Small gel tablets
Pass in four-way kiss
From under the tongue
Without the right of way.
If you can’t stand to see me this way
Then please, sit
Close your eyes, let down your hair
As I did you, more or less than you think
Therefore, philosophers say that you are
But we know better, best when shaken.
Who knew so many carats
Could assemble and still
Lack luster? My collection
Of ring fingers always points.
Just add light
Stir and arouse, but beware
Facets and edges.
Stars collapse under
Their fiction, covers ripped
Not for resale but bargain bins.
Just burn. Destiny has no children
Yet, stillborn nieces
Refuse to leave nana’s house
Fearful of starless nights.
May I call you Liz?
I prefer my satin rough
This evening clear as the day
After. My love for you
Is a gnawing sorrow
That’s near chewed through
But nothing that plaster
Can’t mend.
© Chagall 2014
Alphabet City 