Sun dries her sandals Wicks away summer water Life becomes the mist cc: Chagall 2021
Archive for August, 2021
Sometimes I find I cannot get the wooden match to burn Though it says strike any surface to light Mine doesn't conflagrate after first spark - an orange glow of hope, and then pffffft Hey, I am not talking euphemistically here I am discussing matches real pfffffuckin' matches cc: Chagall 2021
reflect the imperceptible flutter of butterfly shadow the slow fade of the lash backlight the winged convocation of eagle way above the canopy at the base of the blade of scented grass linger the day's closing rays cc: Chagall 2021
I say goodbye to the culture that raised me I have been chosen to be bread cc: Chagall 2021
on my way inside I pass a furry bee busy by the screen door she is beautiful in sunlight I say Take care of things out here while I'm gone!
cc: Chagall 2021
…anyway…I still keep my nuts in the freezer…
cc: Chagall 2021
She would stand by the sink, washing dishes, smiling, and she'd shake the plastic covers quite violently by hand, to whip them dry, and I remember the wonderful sensation of being bombarded by tiny cold droplets of water about my body cc: Chagall 2021
sometimes I leave my sheet music outside overnight, not necessarily intentionally and it weathers the storm, especially when there's sunshine to warm it though some of the sharp creases over the years begin to resemble musical score, I have learned which notes to play, which not, and also when to rest or not to play at all the melody is what the melody is cc: Chagall 2021
she sets the table, beautiful porcelain plates not new, rather...relics from an old box of best wishes days of most promise a hope to gather people to imbibe life just two of us here now opposites, each other over-lit candles cc: Chagall 2021
Alphabet City 