Archive for January, 2019


Plucked

No words for the colors my body burns
Neither primary, pastel, nor flying
Instead a conflagration, deep amber
Dark roux near burn, my soul charred flour

Equal parts air, love, and salty water
Stirred to thicken and left to cool a spell

Upon fine filament I ride to you
More than passing a glance our eyes absorb
What’s essential behind, unspoken
In search of clarion call

A prayer for forgiveness prior any act
Repentance in arrears

Chagall 2019

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I’m Just Saying

Making music is the most fun one can have
with clothes on.

Without clothes?

Why, making pasta carbonara, of course!

Chagall 2019

I turn my bookmark face-side-down
when stopping on the recto, and
invert it should I ever pause
at the bottom of any page

Chagall 2019

To creatures of the quantum state
we are the observable universe
expanding till we recede and
our light no longer shines

Chagall 2019

I don’t lyke typohs.

Chagall 2019

Cradle to Grave (A Mantra)

No me
Now me
Know me
Known me
Unknown me

No me…

Chagall 2019

Mushin No Shin

Always tired, what I thought was fatigue
was instead a pervasive sense of “I”
amalgamated in my central brain,
balled in hallucinatory mucous,
wadded, waiting, willing to do our bid

I’ve since dispelled that charm,
released the intruder,
regained life’s energy

There’s now no me

Chagall 2019

Saudade (2014)

My mind peeks out, seeks air, so sad
under blankets. Thoughts pop as geysers arise
entangled, grasped straws if I choose
to embellish unbounded horizons under low ceilings
so dead certain that’s all there is, all that will never be
again, this time slowly I am the clouds, fast
to set out without intent to come in or down
nor at all.

Fogbound and holy, baffled unlucky in love
unveiled this final hour, an instant before
all fades to black on wistful remains,
too much hurt to call it a day so we name her instead
Melancholia. Inside me my memories melt and fade
to unnamed stars that confuse the way
and the poetry’s wrong to herald these end times.

Grips loosen, tugs turn to slack, leaving no tether or hope,
I relinquish my heart as I spiral away.

© Chagall 2014/2019

The Source

Whenever one would say “…they say that…”
my father would ask, “Who is they?”

Chagall 2019

Touché (2015)

She exclaimed
Such a beautiful church
it’s non-dimensional

I asked
You mean non-denominational,
don’t you?

She retorted
No, come look

She swung open the large wooden door. I walked in.

Oh, I see what you mean.
oh!
o
h
!
m
y
G
o
d
!
.
.
.

Chagall 2015/2019

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