Pete Caso
Moe Neigh (and brother Man)
Lick My Stein
Sin D. Sure Man
Cha-cha Gall
Matthew Teese (friends call him Matt)
War Hall
Lawn Uh Sim Sun
:some of my favorite artists
But not Paul McCarthy
because frankly his stuff just sucks
Chagall 2016
Her tears
in moonlight
Mercury atop
cocoa velvet
Chagall 2016
Spectral signatures can be read
to discern what things are made of
Elements absorb color
magnesium blue-green
sodium yellow
hydrogen red-orange
and so on
It dawned on me that
we’re reverse prisms
Ingesting color
to emit white light
Chagall 2016
At work I’ve insisted
that my team be staffed
with nothing but ladies
of beautiful color
Our primary mission:
To rock any world
we encounter
Chagall 2015
Applied for a job
the Chief of Diversity
They would call me the COD
a bit odd
The employment form
asked for Sex so I checked
Then raised my hand
queried What about Gender?
Needless to say
odd girl’s out
Chagall 2016
Itty bitty abjectivity
how do your fluids flow?
We get it, we’re real
enough already
Now fetch me some more
simulacra
@Chagall 2016
There used to be
a caesura here
It’s gone
Chagall 2016
Paris underground, got to get above
to breathe in colored light and rain,
somewhere the girl with the doe’s eyes emits scents
when she’s warm again, but for now the metro is too hot.
The last drag on a night as it nears
dawn, I retain my poise even though I shuffle
and carry myself contemplative, in the rush of early stars,
late tears, departing planes, misted red tail lights.
I can see the flicker, a thousand cycles per second
impressions to strobe, so I dance and pulse intentionally
out of time in order to preserve the macabre, the long spindle
of my spine held erect in this samba, tendrils limber vines.
I bow best in tuxedo, she curtsies in gown, with spit-shine shoes
and perfect air waltzed down the stair rail, shined baluster
on which we glide so gingerly, how I embrace her at the landing
night lamps hushed low in the hall, the turn of some century somewhere.
The kiss is beyond confusion, tousled minds and souls
echo against the marble and ceramic, the air about our noses
warmed by friction of lips, my cheek incessantly tickled by her lashes,
such a brace at the race ‘long the length of the neckline.
I am lulled by the rattle of the trains on the rail,
forever between stations is such a long time so I ride
legs astride between two cars and enjoy the time
in and out of the tunnel, warmer outside, I wouldn’t have guessed.
I apply supple pressure subtly there at the small of her back
help her to find the updraft, the current to ride like the leaf on a scree
tossed, disassembled to light once again, after-starbirth
prepartum blues ere the birth of her new world.
She becomes the moment, blends polymorphic
her biology transmutes to be the time I experience, upon which I cast
my living sine wave, transgress as a pulse I impose on her
downbeat, very much like knotty riffs of rock ‘n roll.
In my dreams I’m often running until I go lucid
where I remember I’m flying of late
with a body like hers in my arms, so heady and weightless
albeit I fly pretty low, blessed just to be near the neckline.
Chagall 2016
Inside
each poem is
another poem
I find myself
looking
for them
Chagall 2016
My heart, adept at somersaults,
sticks the perfect landing.
The pain in my knees though tells me that
it’s not that long till fall.
So tape me up
to brace me tight
in time for another go.
Madly to the springboard
without stopping to plant
I soar of my own desire.
I emulate feathers floating
till ground.
To lie there
spying clouds move
up and down as well as left and right.
In motion emotionally always
forever truly yours.
Chagall 2016
Alphabet City 