Sound as light
upon blond lashes,
breath in a whisper
punctuates consonants
softly on eardrum cilia.
Such ticklish fancies.
Chagall 2015
Category: Writing
I miss the suspense – that delicious hour, sometimes a week –
of waiting for my photos.
Chagall 2015
Fatigue slows
the inner voice
till there’s nothing
but stone
cold
focus
Chagall 2015
What I thought were low patches of clear sky
were really high scatters of clouds.
Chagall 2015
The breeze is welcome tonight,
blows gently from the southern tip
of the island.
The kitchen curtains
light and sheer, lift and fall,
lull and frail, alight and float
from this fire-escape.
A scouring sound, the street-cleaner’s truck
big brushes, soft cymbals, a slow waltz but jazz.
Someone sings the body fluorescent,
a silhouette there! hops between rooftops,
the lookout for errant low-flying dreams
flushes the pigeons from their coops
who turn to spirals of doves.
I am as young as this moment allows
but no less. I’ll have been here again.
And morning light blinds bright silver.
Chagall 2015
I knew you would say that.
Don’t believe me? Look!
I wrote this down in advance –
your words exactly, no?
You’re predictable in that way.
I watch you here from this open field,
you there in your seething cage,
but I will only wait so long.
Chagall 2015
The cut from your cheekbone
to your chinline down your neck
lies the flat plain above your cleavage
where it separates in two perfectly
aerodynamic curves that cannot be comprehended
on graph paper or by formulae
Chagall 2015
The cut from your cheekbone
to the line of your chin down your neck
to the flat plain above your cleavage
where it separates into two perfectly
aerodynamic curvatures that cannot be comprehended
on graph paper or by formulae
Chagall 2015
Alphabet City 