if I knew what I was trying to say I could be more specific cc: Chagall 2021
Archive for June, 2021
to be post-modern when the modern age hasn't yet ended behind in these times so gratefully, gracefully a gull over water arcs in a breeze deep deafened hurtle to drown head-first in life one foot in front of some other one-at-a-time once upon a time, this silent oath: I am cc: Chagall 2021
On The Little Street Behind Main Street Street, in the house next-door to the house next-door, lives a young girl. She is the wonderful daughter of the daughter of a wonderful daughter. As such, she and her grandmother have wonderfully much in common. The little girl lives at 24 The Little Street Behind Main Street Street. Her Grandmother lives next-door to the house next-door to the little girl at 28 The Little Street Behind Main Street Street. The Grandmother waves to the little girl and her Mother, and they wave back. The clothes from the wash that Papa put on the line today wave like clouds in the morning wind. These smell naturally of meadow. Wildflowers grow all over The Little Street Behind Main Street Street, because there is less cement here than on The Big Street Which Is Main Street Street. Flowers love soil, sun, water, good food, clean air, and healthy companions. All of those can be found on The Little Street Behind Main Street Street. cc: Chagall 2021
I helped an old lady - planed her stuck-door, enables her to come and go as she pleases To finish the job where the plane does not travel (at the door-bottom) I needed a rat-bastard file she knew what they were - My late husband called them dose rat bastids - and where his were love to las abuelas cc: Chagall 2021
all of her marginalia memorabilia is assembled there on the lawn at the foot of the mausoleum primrose sways in a steady breeze low in the grass below where faeries hover creeped-up between headstones, a ring of keys to heaven beckons shadows stark on green ground in glorious morning everything in order cc: Chagall 2021
they don't make wooden-match strike-strips like they used to much harder now to kindle conflagration cc: Chagall 2021
I thought she screamed something about Pushkin, though she lacked any knowledge of Russian literature cc: Chagall 2021
I imagined once I would be here, as surely as I remember that day now, there upon a time yet living cc: Chagall 2021
I shape my ciabatta with gravity alone, holding an edge and letting the opposite pole of the raw-dough hang, just enough, then I invert the lengthening piece, and repeat Sensitive hands can feel where to hold, how long (and hard) to press, and when to turn things around Allow the form to find its form Consider: the unbaked ciabatta is alive Unlike God, I find the best bread rises on the fourth day Steam to crust, ashes to dust and all that lovely leaven (so close to heaven) in between yeasty, earthy, airy chew like life cc: Chagall 2021
I could live with simply quaint, couldn't you? cc: Chagall 2021
Alphabet City 