Inside
each poem is
another poem
I find myself
looking
for them
Chagall 2016
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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
I live in greys
not black nor white
seeking that which is
diverted to silence
unspoken texts
Disorient
me I demand
a wedge between poles
duality
Sit back let’s watch it
Regardons maintentant!
deconstruct
Chagall 2016
Language cannot express that
which is not itself
Reflects no meaning
for it’s its own
meaning
Ruthlessly
one must probe
the essence in silence
Sans symbol without word
nestled in the gaze
Chagall 2016
I came across
my draft of a poem
started a while back
It reads as if
we’d been interrupted
for all it says is
She
Chagall 2016
If every planet teemed with life,
the multiverse one big beautiful bazaar,
billions of blue orbs everywhere,
star-travel commonplace, fast and cheap,
an interplanetary agora of sorts, would there still be war?
Chagall 2016
Her voice rained down
where flowers grow
her eyes pored over
light there in the wound
in lieu of certain love
chose bewilderingly
to allow it to unravel
a spiral at a time
Chagall 2016
I am intrigued by how blizzard snow removes reverb from the world
how your voice carries urgent presence atop cold flat air
Chagall 2016
I knew it would fit
Peanut butter and jelly
Every bite haiku
Chagall 2016
It takes a village of knives
to make a great sandwich.
Chagall 2016
