1 on 1
between you and me
the irrational root
of this 2
has us puzzled
Chagall 2015
Category: Writing
I told her I’m sure there’s bells
you can’t help but hear them –
There! You see?
Twin peals in echelon
waves above up in pockets
then swoops below near the prey
This close to the ground we risk
broken wings, we need to find lift anywhere
If I just let go I get aloft
I have long known how to walk on ceilings
I have sat on chandeliers
and walked through upside-down window sashes
I step from this ladder through your second-floor window
to entreat your love, float gracefully down to the ground unhurt
unscathed in defiance of gravity, grateful
graceful as a balustrade slide in white tie and tails
I win and heads lose, we embrace only these end times
not before, that was then while this merely is
I revel now and still
counting the bells –
you can’t help but hear them
Chagall 2015
Late autumn hot
unique humid
sea breezes in-land
colors still ablaze
I a burnt copper
in setting gold sun
reflections, perfect blues.
Chagall 2015
She accused me of leaving
too much peanut butter behind
in the jelly.
I told her similarly you
vis-à-vis the cream cheese.
Chagall 2015
Comatose except perhaps in trances
I’m obliged to amble – a somnambulist I am
the wisp’s own will, a fleeting glimpse
As a flitter upon a cheek’s a lash
the softest breeze that wind can muster
flutters by
I’m lost in your shallow breathing
in a warm cocoon spun of chestnut tendril
sweet oily aromatique
It takes but a moment to finally cease
I wait just a beat, then you’ll know
Chagall 2015
She asked me how the party would be
I told her to think Fellini, she replied:
You mean to say they’ll have pasta?
Chagall 2015
It’s slow
sometimes cinnamon
can seem like syrup
jazzy like cymbals
symbols streak my brain
maybe just my ears
an especially clear day weekend
overhead everywhere bi-planes!
Chagall 2015
She’d never known a tear
to defy gravity
They simply lift
invert then fall
little time
left now for wonder
Chagall 2015
I told her how freaky a chick she was
about the time that the mime walked in.
Chagall 2015
More than whispers, a whistle, in pert moonlight vespers
prayers through branches that sweep by my face, at this clip
too fast pace, I can easily traipse across lines lost except
for a glimpse of life pulses every now and then.
Curtsy, we bow throughout time, an elegant wakeful rest
is just all I can take at this moment, forgive me – how sad that we falter
I fall, every now and then.
Chagall 2015
Alphabet City 