Sweeten it first
then chill it down
© Chagall 2014
Archive for October, 2014
Peace lies there just outside the window,
still they draw their blind.
© Chagall 2014
When I was small you took my hand, led me to distant places
around the corner and up the block
You carried me so I grew to know
the spiral of your ear and the curls about it
Your smelled of taffy, salt, and wind,
as a newborn I’d mistake that for the contour of your cheek
Senses ran together then
before words but after sound
Essentially
once upon a time
© Chagall 2014
Happy drunken steps down snowy streets
I see her frosted breath in powdered balloons
her words wrapped in smiles hang there
like the moment hangs there
beside ourselves
things we could have said alongside that which was
© Chagall 2014
I think the bus ride made it more deadbeat,
or maybe the air brakes provided downbeat each stop –
each time someone tripped the ripcord and let go the ring
and the driver would pull his lever to release the doors to allow the exit
late in the evenings when day was just about done save for the last strong glow
of orange sun atop rooftops and spires, where the harsher shadows would never dare
to alight, where early dreamers could already be seen floating on air
souls akimbo bathing in aqueducts of cool breeze, brisk wind really
whipping about, inverting – sault-somering freefall
down to the street below to the windshields
of city buses toting us home to the love.
© Chagall 2014
I hold and adore this day
as if it was the final rendering
of the thing we call “day” –
a perfect example of a perfect example
of the divine concepts we conjure
as humans here on the ground, under sun,
sky, planets, and low-flying slow-flying planes.
© Chagall 2014
I’ve heard field recordings of sung-gospel
under winter stars; unable to shake
the marvel of that sound, I’m alive again
in frosted air, I revel in icy tears.
© Chagall 2014
I can’t break away from this burning desire
to feel – to touch anything – to stay immersed in color and sound.
I can hold it
but then . . .
I slip,
something slips
gears, such a drag
to always be in retrospect.
© Chagall 2014
Sound is the second coming of color, situates itself in the same place
as optical residue, once eyes close and lights go dim.
We vibrate to live throughout our body,
shaken experiential.
© Chagall 2014
Old friends, sad hearts,
new ways and fresh starts,
seems the elements we lack
are starless nights and indigo,
blinking lights way up there,
people come then they go on-time,
reclined in seats, half-moon-bound flights,
wane gentle, then more, until no more.
I drink pekoe at night in the back;
in my cup I watch planets swirl.
© Chagall 2014
Alphabet City 