lack of words does not imply nothingness as no one would be able to infer the symbols omitted no intonation of internal sounds would ever arise, no cloudy shapes to morph and billow like sails in gray fog froth dissolves leaves fine residue oh what paths we weave Chagall 2020
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The small tawny dog trots through the empty rooms to the closed bedroom door, circles and eventually falls into the arc of its tracing to alight on the tattered carpet that lies at the transom there. Awaiting... Chagall 2020
I have no Drafts awaiting revision so I must think anew, fresh out of the grey box The space behind my eyes settles into the space before my eyes, contentedly I hear a bird, perhaps one-hundred yards away, that sounds like a French police horn, all treble, no punch like the real thing Sitting forward in my chair at the edge, I pop the back of the seat cushion into the air, but it settles down when I plant my feet squarely The tiniest of gnats, perhaps birthed of the late-season green tomatoes, navigates the menu bar of my blog Good name for a band - Ladies and gentlemen, The Late Green Tomatoes! Fucking gnat wants to enter one of the orifices on my face Returning to center, to a silent calm that hadn't been there ...witness this moment's slip to the next, I glance back then ahead - look both ways before not crossing at the green, not in-between the time that falls like rain My father once told me he could weave through raindrops and not get touched - stay dry even in a downpour They say that there are laws of conservation at work in the universe. Where do the good energies go when they die? Chagall 2020
Moments undone, time's breasts exposed fanfare follows a drum-roll will her slow down, please will you implore you, beg me call you - summon others ...reflect in you so that a kiss will heal... suckled in time Chagall 2020
I realize now I would have loved a rainhat to wear on summer walks beneath warm downpour As I would one to wear on solo strolls through the rain within Everywhere droplets, streaked windows, strings of pearls of rose-colored glass still tinted cats on fences meow everywhere and lovers kiss in silhouette beneath beachball moons while wonderfully-arced melodies play when the rain begins to fall that night, I - without a hat - feel the need to retire who'd have known? Chagall 2020
Never lose a child's sense of wonder and discovery. Revel in life and the air that you breathe. Ponder that we are at all. Live to live. Peace. Love. You. Me. We cc:CC 2020
In puddles I see bubble rainbows, rainy autumn day droplets gather and sputter down the run of my gutter to the spout where out come slick sleeves of gold orange leaves, these ride the tiny waves downhill And I, like the rain (like my heart), am a steady patter on the tin roof, on the tent flap, the storm out at sea that brings wild salted air, invigorates the Fall and the fallen And I shall name her Hope Hope smells like Autumn air Each morning I seek Hope Early sun is everywhere I am the Autumn air Perhaps I should name her Autumn Strange, how Autumn smells like I remember Hope cc:CC 2020
I withdrew a beautiful chunk of dream from the bag, enough for two for a week cc:CC 2020
I push the thought until there are no words perish the sound except for birds in flight, not ever to alight not even once You never turn to see that I wave every day that you leave Chagall 2020
in a world of proctologists all is ass-backwards go analyze that Chagall 2020
