Is.
Feel the fry of that z?
Izzz: the electric barbed hum of life.
© Chagall 2016
Archive for November, 2016
There’s full moons tonight
All the worlds everywhere
Love sighs
By the light of ancient stars
Lips part breathless
© Chagall 2016
Candles oblige me, light me back
to the sea, for at night I lose my way
if not for the sound of surf, the salt-spray,
I’d be lost, tossed about as innocence in the squall,
fragile bones amid limber wind, snapped barely alive
except for the thought of you buried deep,
the last seed of hope that I know I’ll sow someday.
© Chagall 2016
The soft line about me
contours my figure to ground
of which I am less certain
its makeup
Push, pull,
yaw me in space
Long-drawn
cushion of touch
A central agitation
between the eyes that is more
pressure on the optic nerve than
any real sense of being
Breath’s a valve,
there are few ways in
Contract, expel
me into ground
Is
a way out
© Chagall 2016
Heather, her heat
pure theater, pretends
she’s in throes but I know
better whether Heather is really
there or not.
© Chagall 2016
I’m an ukulélé by an open window and
I’m hoping that you’ll pick me up to pluck
Sing a song about three lovers near the water
Lala lala lala la aloha-oe
© Chagall 2016
You told me
the objects about us had
names that marred luminosity
so beware the symbol, embrace the actual.
© Chagall 2016
In the photo we are at
the corner of Rue N. Chapeau Rouge,
Dijon, France, circa 2011,
in front of a flower shop,
each petal so finely fixed in digital color,
your arm under mine, our gazes down, smiling,
with various Dijonaise blurred about us scurrying,
caught up in their day-to-day.
© Chagall 2016
I am exhilarated by early morning and
the promise of timelessness
to experience life’s wonder.
Till evening song
when hours hang heavily and
I shift to the eternity of sky for bearing.
© Chagall 2016
So when we can take a pill
to alter at will
ethnicity and race,
then what will we fight about?
© Chagall 2016
Alphabet City 