Last night it dawned on me,
quite vividly, that we must
be alone in the multiverse,
otherwise our poetry would
not convey such great wisdom,
nor our existence such ultimate
irony.
Chagall 2018
Archive for December, 2018
alone at the window
she ties up the sash
the street below
one flight down
so close
she can touch
the slow night life
in passers-by
the time strides by
two-by-two
a pretty girl with flowered hair
from a balcony tosses beads
Dulcinea above petals that waltz
rains down from the fire escape
in wonder under melted snow
she beckons a frosted kiss
icicles melt into rivulets
that run her chin down her neck
refreshing sips
sunlit water
still so calm
too deep
a wooden bench – a frozen lake
vees of faraway flyers dip then soar
in echelon back to home
I have loved her in the wind
among tall grains we ran to flee
I have quenched my thirst with a long draught of rainwater
sipped from the taut concave of her abdomen,
the rhythm of her arc ebbs the flow
of a drink akin to tart citrus ade
one-flight up from the street,
a tenant is neither here nor there
how many nights I still walk off the ledge
into mid-air
and in the late hours
I relish the first-floor’s rarefied gas
the omniscience of feet on the street
Chagall 2018
Silence
…did I ruin it, your
silence?
I intrude.
But, hold on
…how long can we
breathe underwater?
Come on…you c’mon up for air!
Chagall 2018
The art of wrapping gifts is
ample space, sharp scissors,
3 parts origami, 1 part luck,
plus a strong will to succeed,
to assert one’s mastery over
colorful inanimate objects.
Have I told you of my
handcrafted calligraphy labels?
Ladle a nog, let’s talk!
Love, Chagall – 2018
I wake up and pray
there is still enough time
to love you more
Chagall 2018
incantations
in darkness
on the edge:
creation
a benediction
for all that is, will be
a whisper, a tremor
a wind
the word:
beginning
a handy sleight
of mind
Chagall 2018
earlier today i brushed my forearm
against the wall of a 500-degree oven,
and by yelling out the F-word
loudly, emphatically, and repeatedly,
i was able to stave off grave injury
Chagall 2018
I watch stars collide
Light pulse throbs deeply in space
All await the sound
Chagall 2018
words trace the mind’s objects
bold outlines, with a soft bleed to neighboring neurons
(neutrons? neutrinos maybe…)
an ascetic aesthetic sort of thing
primary colors, or heather mute tones
hit or miss on evocation
God
I love
vivid harmony,
the major 9th especially
consider:
live the actual, and
forget the “real”
tra-la
…and the reel we’ve danced more than once
– just think back –
life comes ’round now and then,
between fine courses of miracle
immaculate is timeless,
conceived in clear mind above it,
in it, with it, of it,
take it!
partake of words and
trace bold objects
Chagall 2018
they ask me where i’ll go
when i lose my mind
i tell them mountaintops
meadows, forests and timberlines
places where thought is
not needed
the crest of giant waves
on sands where i am erased
each step
every breath is the world – creation
at rest
atop my headless torso
Chagall 2018
Alphabet City 