Alphabet City

who - without light - always
precedes genesis

afloat, adrift,
a thought
(perhaps)
somewhere

unfolds
swells
crescendos...

kaleid-
oscopic 

origami
confetti-orgasm
everywhere

what would be calm
now frenzy

hot frenetic 
beginning

a new start

a lust for stars,
for all things celestial

eternal
inter-planetary
wanderer

who gets lost
around any bend

cc: CC '23

It is the morning of
the long shadow, 
inordinately lengthened 
such that no artist 
would ever assert
these values, these
lines, what God 
so easily renders

cc: CC ‘23

Nowadays I have more than one
vanishing point, my different 
line sets converge 

some objects appear 
smaller than they are

while others…

perspective does that,
makes things shrink
the farther away they get

till one 
ultimately tapers
to a point

below your horizon
is a dark pocket
I gravitate to

concentric circles target it, 
cross- hatches shade the surround 

clearly evident 
though subtle gestures

no line escapes 
tracing back to you

cc: CC ‘23

I shout 
hey shithead 
don’t shit on my chair 
as I shoo the bird away

and move my chaise
to the shade

cc: CC ‘23

Marks on paper
not unlike scars
make us smile 

cc: CC ‘23

I've run out of cerulean
- cyan too - 
just when I'm here,
kicking off sandals

Yet,
I gavotte at the sea
and imagine I bleed
with the sand, the sky

A bird shadows my shoulder
from high, then walks beside me
pecking at smooth white stone
awash

In froth we quick-step 
atop spongy beach

I feed her maize 
from my easel,
ochre plantains,
sweetest blackest
banana

For me she sports her colorful back,
plumes and wingspans and I 
have since restocked
with all sorts of blue

cc: Chagall '23

This morning I recorded the sound of chainsaws, and the screams of dashed dreams of red-shoulder hawks

cc: CC ‘23

Over the years I’ve learned 
if watermelon is well textured,
refreshing, it need not be that sweet,
and biscotti dipped in cold milk
need longer to soften

cc: CC ‘23

Long ago she talked about talking
in present tenses

God, how I miss that,
how deep my yearn

no one nowadays is

so many adults,
so fucking mature

cc: CC ‘23

There is too much shadow in the open field, 
awry, amiss, no sign of the shadowed, 
when I turn my back, will it be gone

cc: CC '23