Follow the vertical seam where the wine racks meet,
trace to where it intersects the horizontal plane
of the top shelves, there where the two lines junction
is a white paper bag, rumpled but packed.
Bring it the next time you come.
Chagall 2019
Archive for February, 2019
The rooms we inhabit
are sadder than the lives
we live
Chagall 2019
I tell my budtender, a large man,
I don’t want a strain that piques the appetite,
I don’t need to be making pizza at 3 A.M. He nods;
he knows what I mean.
Chagall 2019
runoff from the high ground breaks through
from under the ice-crusted snow, flows
such a deep blue that its black,
like the line of a broad felt marker
Salt left behind by a tear
cooled in the wind,
dried on your cheek
you ask me if I will stay mad all day,
I ponder if I am simply supposed
to support all you purport to be
despite overwhelming evidence to the contrary
in response I ask
how can I be sure
I turn to watch the bolt of
life from the underbrush
startled by your footfall
you oversimplify the world, I say,
there’s a lot of gray between here and now
while you overcomplicate it, she says,
…I’m right here
you ask me if I intend to remain mad all day,
I ponder if I am simply supposed
to ignore, forgive, forget,
despite overwhelming evidence to the contrary
I turn to watch the bolt of
life from the underbrush
startled by our footsteps
you overestimate your claim the world, I say,
there’s a lot of gray between now and then
while you overcomplicate it, she says,
can’t you see, I’m right here
Chagall 2019
Check out my books! Yeah – you and Robert Frost.
Chagall 2019
My mother and granddaughter,
the oldest and newest people I know,
together in one photo, reflecting light
back to the lens, a most beautiful array
of photons on glass, ink on paper
Don’t fade away
Chagall 2019
In time, all tumbles down,
breaking crowns, thumbs in pies,
lasses on tuffets, lads in blue,
kitchen utensils running away,
the love – the fear – the awe,
the moon, tiny lambs unsheared,
goodnight, sleep well, sleep tight,
the first last stars we see,
godspeed, good light, till morrow.
Chagall 2019
Even in the deepest indigo of night,
I can see the platinum of her outline
in moonlight, chiseled silver braille,
a powdery ghost from long ago, laughing
breathless, running ahead, she yells
over her shoulder “be careful,” not to fall.
Chagall 2019
All you auto-pedagogues out there – yeah, You – take note:
today I twisted off the handle thinking it was the cap
Chagall, 2019
There is one more thing I can tell you tonight,
considering the stars, I wonder what they wish upon
Chagall 2019
Alphabet City 