Nary a question
yet so many answers
© Chagall 2014
Archive for March, 2014
I imagine his memory of me, myself anew, image inverted
in polished specula, arranged to reflect the deeper end
where form and touch precede the vapors
An air too thin to breathe
grips my breast, this hollow where spirit resides
Tousled so giddy then, now my love
lacks legs so I hobble, hush and expel
warm breath from rounded lips
In steam I trace mosaics that vanish
once rendered, in a gallery I lie hidden
hands over ears, my heart squeezed shut
to count the fallen footstep
© Chagall 2014
It’s becoming every time I’m gone
you go and come again.
© Chagall 2014
It took me time to understand
I’d mistaken the flute as her voice
My awareness highlights her colors
to tingle emphatic – what we feel
All my memory is in her scent
clove-scented smoke from sacred temples
In glints of sunlight trapped in surface tension
atop the shimmer of water
Hot sand sculpts our contour
ablaze we burn
Huddled under soft down under colder stars
under one another under no pressure
Pondering only the oldest questions
I have nothing but the newest wonder
She breathes, while I catch my breath
and exhale sharply, she gasps
And then we wholly surrender
to a sigh and the rush
To a
hush
© Chagall 2014
I just need a bit of breathing room
and a cushion against the rest of life
if it’s not going to come from you
well then that’s a very sad thing
© Chagall 2014
Just a light touch of the flame
a short draw now hold it in
take a whisper hit
on life
© Chagall 2014
The smell of juniper and quinine
cocktails decompose
over time I believe
in blackthorn sloe
iced rims and peels
at precise times
perfect blend
with just enough tilt
to justify everyday
long and low I go
around high-heeled
a pucker and a tart
on the edge
frayed by longing
tickled by tassels
a halted sneeze
anticipates blessing
that never comes
see me
dance down the pole
in your void
savagely horned
good heat
but little smoke
© Chagall 2014
I know nothing’s permanent
Everything – everyone – dies
I bring that somber to all I do
Even the happy times
© Chagall 2014
The scent of the earth’s an intoxicant
Here, try a line
© Chagall 2014
The sun alights on my body
billions of bouncy bright beads
highlight my bones relative to the star’s azimuth
in a way I do not quite comprehend coax
to the surface delicious light
from somewhere deep within
© Chagall 2014
Alphabet City 