I await my fate:
the dying throe,
a spun-coin’s wobble.
Chagall 2018
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Lazy zealous scallions crawl walls,
curl around ivy, ‘long scurry lanes
well-travelled, the trellis up-down
the rainspout, moreover pour over
puddle dimples.
Chagall 2018
Yes there are things
that go bump in the night
unlike we imagine
Dark-gray spirals
against the dark
potentially unseen
Subliminal phantasmagoria
Whispers from deep
within closets left open
alongside the bed
Creaks of baseboard
the sound of frantic
advancing feet
Invisible minuscules
there on the hem of
my pillow sheet
It is much too cold
to blame fever
No refuge even inside
Chagall 2018
A Rose now
where stars
are. Love
ascends to
the very end
and rains down.
Showers of
light erase
the void.
As a kid I
watched super
heroes rotate
the planet
counter-orbit
to reverse time.
Collectively
we can do the same.
Friday again.
All the world
still ahead.
Chagall 2018
Keep looking up
and you will miss
the fact that your
dog has peed.
Chagall 2018
In voluntary freefall from
a vantage point high o’er the planet,
a girl has time to adapt to gravity.
Chagall 2018
Once, like you, I aspired to great ends,
time was forever, the body fresh, second
only to my ripe mind swelling, aswim
in oxygen, blood pumped through wings
though wind was all that I needed
to stay aloft, above the fray,
at hover in the rarefied.
Now I am caught in downdraft without lift,
in rapid descent, anticipating
the final touch of earth on skin,
of rock on bone.
Fatigue is quite different than ennui.
Together they are overwhelming.
Chagall 2018
I am so glad I asked her
what the two washcloths were for.
Chagall 2018
Reptile dysfunction: when one’s snake doesn’t work.
Chagall 2018
Welcome to the pack.
Up on your haunches,
let’s howl!
Chagall 2018
