Wielding the pen is the poem
is it not?
That we are at all
more ponderous
than why.
Tell me again what I’ll tell you,
I never grow tired of hearing.
You arrive before that which precedes me,
such is my life, these latent neurons.
And love?
Rain, alchemy, inevitable parting,
the last touch of fingertips in a crowd.
The sweet and sour and salt of you –
such a heady bouquet.
Chagall 2015
I thought I’d express it all in one breath
simply stream out all thoughts sans stops
But I faltered and fell on my face again
seems the usual fare these days
Spare a trifle my friend for a stanza or two
there I go again – nursery rhymes
Half the time I search for
the next time; absent yet deeply
not there
God, there’s ice chips everywhere!
Chagall 2015
A part of memory,
a nuance I couldn’t describe
that connected that specific aroma
with a certain feeling up-down my arms and legs
throughout my gut a tingle of being alive and timeless
– I felt it again today.
How strange to be outside
looking in.
Chagall 2015
To those who press “like”
without even reading,
por favor –
don’t bother.
Chagall 2015
And to those of you who really click through
may your muse live long and strong.
I’m hurt and insulted that you find me immature
I proclaimed, proceeding to play mini-bongos
on her navel with the pads of my index fingers,
intrigued by her acoustic qualities.
Chagall 2015
She exclaimed
Such a beautiful church
it’s non-dimensional
I asked
You mean non-denominational,
don’t you?
She retorted
No, come look
She swung open the large wooden door. I walked in.
Oh, I see what you mean.
oh!
o
h
!
m
y
G
o
d
!
.
.
.
Chagall 2015
Outside reading
clouds part
sun-photons come
beaming down
I stare
but for a moment
clouds merge
gray again
I return to the page
residual sunspots
there in my brain
wreak havoc
with punctuation
Chagall 2015
Young sad girl on a train
she’s watching
Towns and worlds
go by
Speed her away
Through misted window
sun streaks
She shifts so her front’s
to the past
Her back yet
to the wall
She’s pulled now
no longer pushed
Sound upon motion
after all
Alone,
she speeds her away
Chagall 2015
Awash in a a wail of church bells slurring blue
hog call whistle stops blowing the rattle
of rails amid home-bound ruckus
these trains keep on chugging chugging
across the country so wide and so green and so lovely
once free how I need to be free once more till
the end of all time I’ll be free despite all
who are crazy to believe they’ll curtail
me be free without fight flight or fancy
I will die for the same lands my daddy died for
on the sands at the foot of some mountain
Chagall 2015
I love Friday nights
I think they deserve
more than their 14%
weekly allotment
Chagall 2015
Alphabet City 