The sculptress masterfully shaped the clay into a quartet of delicate foibles,
a wonderful statue of limitations.
Chagall 2017
Archive for October, 2017
Morning fosters ambition and wields a net; time flies.
Chagall 2017
I have come to realize
I will not let me down
Chagall 2017
Today they awarded a prize to the happiest girl in the room.
I lost.
She had auburn hair,
scented of coca
cola and cloves,
and a face
to die-for in profile.
Well,
she
just
might.
I offered the room
the top of my head,
while she made ceremonial rounds.
Happiness is relative,
I told myself,
misery could be better,
depending on the scale,
and if they grade on a curve.
Nothing’s absolute
the man to my right says
Of that I’m absolutely certain
My shoes need shining,
my hose is torn,
my Latina skin showing through
like polka dots, since the Nude
color had in mind
fairer, happier girls.
I feel faint so I fan
my face with the program,
suddenly I need air.
I need space
I need time
I need love
Soft kisses
rain on my face
to wash
life away
You OK?
he asks
I’m fine.
A…
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He was brusque, touching her breast. She bristled. Later, at the breakfast after the bris, she brushed him away yet again. Brave, she breathed-in deep, braced herself and bashed him.
Chagall 2017
The shadows flit across my room
as many falling leaves as once were stars
Wind circles about me and I it
in frenzied dervish
Color vibrates seemingly
randomly
I hug Time
adieu
Clouds scurry alit aloft
moving too fast
Above earth’s patch-quilt
immersed in the gulf-stream
In somber altitude
With a single tug on the hope
I untether
Below my shadow across my room
left behind fallen stars
Chagall 2017
He asked Can I see your notes…did she say that dinosaurs were placid or flaccid?
Peering at him over my bifocals, I replied: Neither. She said they’re diapsid.
Chagall 2017
In autumn I crawl beneath mounds of leaves, to pretend I am them,
mottled, fallen, windy but warmed, formed by thousands of siblings.
Chagall 2017
She said I’ve never seen my pan so clean!
I said You’re welcome, babe. Just call me Pot-Walloper.
Chagall 2017
Sounds in hallways always resound, the whisperers pursue me
The ancient profound precedes me, assumes I’ve succeeded
Relentless chatter, a god and a goddess each alive
Fill my head with asides, soft off-stage banter
I can barely hear
Their disinterest
A good thing
For now
Chagall 2017
Alphabet City 