A single principle may drive innumerable decisions, so choose each of yours wisely cc: Chagall 2022
Category: Poetry
I don't know how many suns have been born, or have died since you arrived here before me, I'd wager none at all, but if indeed infinity then perhaps suns appear and sputter-out every day Suns as stars, one the same, upon which we wish, we may and might tonight, plead to come true, to make right Flat on my back I fall, airily up I float in mid-air my ascent traces angels cc: Chagall 2022 "...we get on average about one new star per year, and one star dying each year as a planetary nebula in the Milky Way. These rates are different in different types of galaxies, but you can say that this is roughly the average over all galaxies in the Universe. We estimate at about 100 billion the number of galaxies in the observable Universe, therefore there are about 100 billion stars being born and dying each year, which corresponds to about 275 million per day, in the whole observable Universe." Cornell University 2015; Santonge, Amelie; accessed 31 January 2022; http://curious.astro.cornell.edu/about-us/83-the-universe/stars-and-star-clusters/star-formation-and-molecular-clouds/400-how-many-stars-are-born-and-die-each-day-beginner
Sometimes I will be the low note, by that I don't mean lack of highlight, musically speaking here, now I express different thoughts when bass, not so basso, just warm, full-bodied, diffused round myopic on the ears Unwavering quavers go boom, and Om, and oh my When I'm alto I'm me, exhale on the note you are most comfortably Up never-too-high, just up too late tonight, I try to find voice in the voices ...too much tension in the upper partials, thick muddy crescendos and diminuendos, cascades down upcoming rivulets, as I live and breathe inside this roil In the end, as in the beginning, there will only be static, a hum cc: Chagall 2022
Play I Naked under blanket, Brielle, bottle of bourbon, watch a beautiful snowfall flake by flake bye flake bye soft sputter atop sledders colors brighter than voices fade always above rooftops salty crisp snow-air noel, noel, noel like a bell chimes the world needn't be more than simply thus, a toast to us, Brielle says to no one Play II her neighbors light at night is a hearth upon which her heart rests her soul gazes long into its distant warmth, an impression, snow-rendered golden pointillé cc: Chagall 2022
Every addict seeks infinity cc: Chagall 2022
I was late. I stared at the clock on the stove: 475. No way I was going to make it. cc: Chagall 2022
You who mess with my mind, there in gray, leave my archetypes alone, those are inviolate cc: Chagall 2022
The smallest buds on the family tree flowerless blooms imperfectly fractal, mere inconsequential relationships that bear no fruit for us all to link to, no perpetuation of the surname, but so much love that summer, cut so short, flourishes till today, nourished by roots leading from two infinities, their path ahead is forever upward, sky wood, sun-baked bark against which lovers shall lean, in a storm, any tree will have to do cc: Chagall 2022
Memories at random erupt the long buried It is easy to hide, a nod to elsewhere All that broke us causes the weep cc: Chagall 2022
I gathered my houseplants around, and explained to them the good and the bad, how I would potentially neglect them at times, or spoil them because love makes you spoil things you love, they could go parched for days or feel suddenly waterboarded, but they could laze in glorious sun, and I would prune and fuss over them, and assure their nutrition, and help them propagate, and talk with them cc: Chagall 2021
Alphabet City 