Archive for September, 2017

Hit ‘Em Where They Ain’t

I’ve come to understand that by shifting expectations
I need never have to await anything again.

Chagall 2017


Politesse speaks up to allocate what it has to offer
an off-hand remark, a shot in the dark. Once a sigh too many,
or maybe two. I don’t know if it’s more a dance, a song
or could it be simply a tighter squeeze?

Fairly odd even now, nuts don’t fall that far
but sometimes do fall hard, yet no one hardly feels
the difference – with or without them. Apart from …

I thought I’d have more, though that may be sufficient,
notwithstanding accents and peculiarities.

Chagall 2017

Dearest Lady

I sent the widow a note alongside the tureen of soup, saying that
the barley and the beef was to die for.

Chagall 2017

I am so tiled if thesis small keyboards
auto connecting my staff, stiff – FUNK!

Chagrin 2017
Sot of a borscht!

When I dance and laugh in the afternoon, I am deep in solemn gravitas
Traipsing languorously over the wires of sun-rays emanating there in the air

I am calypso limbo-rider, a pantomime propped-up on rainbows
Dissonant intervals, wind music, currents and streams – ephemeral flutes!

God gave me this box. I love this box. It has everything I need
The colors contained within, I hope are to your liking.

Chagall 2017

Usual Business

Been busy by bees all morning
now everything’s buzzing.

Carlos “Honey” Chagall 2017

Down In It

I smell so good after turning beds
of arugula by hand.

Chagall 2017

Almost Dark

I stare at the canopy of trees, such an odd breathing skyline,
that dwarfs and ignores me, rightfully so, I guess, yet deeply consoles me.

There is the last light of day at the tallest fractal of branch,
fixed on horizons tracing the lie of land unseen from eye-level.

I once climbed a tree as a child, halfway up became a young boy
and I panicked with fear to come down so I climbed steadily up.

Until I was young again I never descended.
I will surely forever hold this grip, this secure balanced stance upon branch.

Looking down, I miss looking up
at cork and bark, wood and branch, leaves and sun.

With one last degree of planet rotation, there is no longer light in the air.
So quietly I slip back to ground.

Chagall 2017

My head deeply velvet in foliage about me
I am fascinated by so many facets of light at every angle
Within the emerald’s deepest colors nearly ebon I bathe
Amid hues that bleed like madras from immersion in sky
Green on blue like Miles

Chagall 2017

No More Before After Then

Low stars

Bright moonlight
in the dark garden

Running downhill
breathless in the cold night
turning to first kiss you

Chagall 2017

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