I have grown to deeply – profoundly –
appreciate the difference – the gaping chasm –
the disparity – between the genius behind the creation
and the drivel that emanates from the lips of those created.
Chagall 2018
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The moon is low and large,
the light from my neighbors window
is a golden talc on the night,
muted and diffused, like my thoughts
lately. The laughter of
loved ones from inside, warms me
despite frigid air. Cold live oxygen,
thin, effervescent, fills my lungs,
invigorates, hollows out and
clears space for life, provides
ground for the full figure
of my heart.
All of me beats
with expectation to return
to within. They wait for me.
Entering from the garden side,
I shed the frosted twilight
immediately upon crossing the transom,
warmed though I have yet to near the hearth.
Their shouts of welcome
melt me to remove
all sense of
I, other, and
the outside
where I have been.
Chagall 2018
Now,
cross-legged
on the floor
alone,
I wish I had
spent
more time
alongside you
at night
on the couch with
my arm draped
around you,
heads tilted and
touching,
feeling
the meld of
temples,
thoughts and
dreams.
Chagall 2018
Will never lose me
Mouthed indistinguishably
There underwater
Chagall 2018
Shout hallelujah
Frenzied oxygenation
Salt water on lips
Chagall 2018
Originally part of a larger piece – a Chagallian Loku –
found here
Hearth:
heart and
earth
two places
where I bank
the embers
rekindle
arise anew
in updraft
spastic flames
at first
then
righted to roar
at last
in perfect
imperfect
perpetuity
an
internal
eternal
flame
perhaps
a stoke
or two
more
an infinitesimal
tweak of the flue
is all it takes
to extinguish
either flame
Chagall 2018
M(eye) oh m(eye)
Chagall 2018
I think of having a bourbon, but I remember
I have given it up, and oh the wasted calories;
maybe smoke a joint, but then all cookies beware,
fair game!
Instead I have
a fucking yogurt.
Chagall 2018
Please know that Alphabet City does not endorse
the use of profanity, nor the consumption of alcohol,
herbal intoxicants, baked goods, or bacterial cultures.
She had perfect pitch
An absolute sense of her being
Chagall 2018
When walking to the compost bin next to the sink
to clear your cutting board,
go slow!
Otherwise the garlic skins
will certainly blow
away.
Chagall 2018
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