see
ghosts flee
these fields
lavender
notwithstanding
hear the elders
spoke
words melt
ignorant wisps
away
I am yet
not fulfilled
here this place
unknown
© Chagall 2016
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The sounds of night
linger and stray
into morning
This is not
real light
I’m aware
Too faded
perhaps
too bright
Too soon
the day
breaks
The day
brakes
Time slows
I enumerate
each passing
thing
One by
one
I am lost
in implicate order
Purely
of my own design
© Chagall 2016
The universe is staging
a trillion-photon march on creation
to show us how solidarity’s done
Anywhere that light is
that’s where you’ll find me
© Chagall 2016
Warning: Must be 10 years of age or older to read this post
Act 1
Kneed in the balls.
Act 2
Need in the balls.
Act 3
Kneading the balls.
Coming soon: If sands or butts
© Chagall 2016
Consider that
there is
no God
All birds sing
of their own
volition
Albeit
a sadder tune
There is
no echo
nor refrain
No joyous
hallelujah
A lonely lilt
on empty branch
© Chagall 2016
Politics and greed aside.
Isn’t solving world hunger
merely a logistics problem?
© Chagall 2016
I approximate the distance between two hearts
to be more than the sum of this moment less certain
And the hand that one feels in the night is mere specter,
lugubrious playful phantasmagoria
Morning used to bring hope that perished at midday
midway to evening whispers of vespers
It will sometimes slip away, she said
It will always fade away
© Chagall 2016
Red turns paler pink
The art of dying zinnia
Bids us promised spring
© Chagall 2016
Everyone doesn’t
not matter.
© Chagall 2016
Alphabet City 