Alphabet City

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

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

Chagall 2019

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

Out of time, mind, milk, and money;
can you take me please to the store?

Chagall 2019

Static – the new day
insects and birds rise to greet suns birthed everywhere
inner ears tickle the first time sounds like water
echo there in caves

No words for color
regions of my body burn just as god intends
minty oxygen invigorates my being
a pinch now and then

We grow outside-in
win or lose the games we dare to risk all of it
late morning near noon the days’ crossroads are many
so worlds come prepared

Sleep’s long swept away
the heart of the day absorbs strong light from above
dirt and rain combine to break down all of the lush
covered seed split open

What doesn’t grow right
gets discarded but in time heals perfectly flawed
singularities for the poets to ponder
for painters to feign

We crawl then we fly
cry out loud above the rest our forgotten calls
in dappled clearings we romp under heavy falls
bathe in cold cascades

Evening comes sudden
sneaks up too quickly this time she and I are here
a kiss in twilight is often all it will take
is all it will give

I cherish worn trails
angled from vanishing points so far behind us
happenstance a crowd where a billion faces search
but only two find

Irrepressible
this urge to resist dying until tomorrow

Chagall 2013

There’s not a single red star
that’s yet died

Chagall 2019

When she was a child we played a game:
we pretend to be high on a cliff at the edge
losing grip  – our footing – we plummet
down off the bed, from Everest

At the last minute grabbing hands in mid-air
– in outstretched rescue every sinew, each muscle
straining to hold onto life

She writes that it’s readied her well for the fight,
she loves me, it’s time to let go

Chagall – 2015, revised for 2019

From the cliff Julia guides the anemone
fluorescence to write her name in the sea

If only people knew
she ponders

Chagall 2019

I punch at the air,
thinking I’ll knock
some sense into it, so
I swing and I miss and
instead catch myself
on the chin.

Chagall 2019

Sweeping the cutting room floor I find
sweet snippets of verse about you

Chagall 2019