I don’t mind it looks wet
but not like I just did shampoo
or worse yet – poopoo!
overheard at the salon by
Chagall 2018
Dear Reader – please know that the editors of Alphabet City
debated at length, whether or not to publish Matchbook Number 87.
We stand by our decision. Art forces us to look at life squarely.
—CC (avec la langue dans la joue)
I said it smells great and I love the cracked top.
She said that’s the result of a cold-start but a much hotter oven.
Get closer, you can hear it continue to pop new crust.
Chagall 2018
Hushed frenzied glide-steps
Feet slap wet on moonlit grass
Visceral dancer
Chagall 2018
amid the ruckus
smiles, upturned faces
facsimiles of uteri
where do all the birthed worlds go
no time right now to elide that question
never to have or to not have been
but where
in a planar sense
a planet any plainer would be
poetry incarnate here upon
Gaia falling – an eternal
blue aqueous orb plummets
down one supposes but here
worlds do fall up
and fill up and fuck up
and fold up like small affairs
at the roadside
Grace is cold air
to invigorate being to awaken
to arise to a vantage above the mist
where clarity is the space within which
each is defined, small dimples
impressed like proofed-dough
small pulses aware in time
we unravel
molecular
at band shells
Fridays and Saturdays
in the wake
of the incessant monotony of
cacophony and polyrhythm, steadies
the hum of you, the haunting end of a tune that fades
within; without time there is no lilt
no melody, no quaver, no interval –
no insurrection of sound
to enable heartbreak
I dance stepping and skipping
to big bulbous beats in the fandango moonlight
with my frosty heather love in arm
Chagall 2018
sunlight falls
albeit dappled
she emotes lavender – a plume
whose effect is to leave me
abandoned
Chagall 2018
For you,
the obligatory couplet
Chagall 2018
My poems are like cameos
They show up in your life
every now and then
In profile on a bus –
a shadow off far away
Lyrics that strike you
on a dare from the ledge
Where only small
footsteps
keep you from fall
© Chagall 2013/2018
Do everyone’s sesame seeds fall off
or only mine?
Chagall 2018
I am unable to breathe
having an anxiety attack
I want so bad want to
dress in time to make it
outside before the sun sets
Chagall 2018
I wondered why until
one day wonder flew away
I prayed for peace through
peaceful prayer
We are blessed
by the blessings we choose
Wonderment is always
there – et voilà!
Chagall 2018
Alphabet City 