I pile on more blankets to thwart the cold
I relish the shiver of the chill once relinquished
Braced against heated ground, the aroma exudes me
I am the mist of moist earth emanating upward onto myself
Mycorrhizal by nature, of course
Chagall 2017
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She said there would be balladeers
singing in classic 5-part embroidery.
Eddie K of the mountain lakes,
smooth bay-rum for the ears, a teardrop-step
in tailored pants, sharkskin maybe mohair,
the voice of the slow-grind, a fill-light
upon sweeping profile, cheeks so
smooth, astringent sharply braced,
invigorating love in every arpeggio
Chagall 2017
Consider yourself transported back in time, what do you do
or what do you know that’s so extraordinary to prove you are from our time?
Chagall 2017 – A mind is a terrible thing to waste.
Not sure if she said
our love-play should be
more aromatic
or acrobatic
so I’ve brought along both
sticks of incense
and a pommel horse
thinking better safe
than sorry
© Chagall 2013
Bundled in a snowsuit, prone on a sled, a 5-year old races downhill
aimed at the back of your ankles.
Chagall 2017 – Gimme a milk, Steve…in a dirty glass
Arm extended with fingers outstretched, you are just within reach, I scream
Speedily now! Anon!
Chagall 2017
She forever lost
In the space between moments
Gently probes the rain
Chagall 2017
Sometimes I sit at piano and shape chord-forms freely in space,
handsome constructions of arched fingers tugging opposing motions
in search of dissonance, evading harmony, while she intones beautiful
random sounds like words aimed at resonant chambers, her voice round
in the room with a touch of rasp to alert the world that she is kindred;
her melody shifts odd intervals and tempo-free meter, we float
in time and heart in perfect poise aligned without tonic, we resolve at will
or not at all the upper partials of our tension, we modulate
How often we’ve stopped mid-phrase and have kissed without losing tone or
the shape of our song!
Chagall 2017
To those who insist I’m not able to string more than two lines together
I say Rubbish!
Chagall 2017
In the tall neglected garden grass
lie lost treasures.
Chagall 2017
Alphabet City 