I’ve had it for the night
The club is smoky, the vibe less tight
Than certainly I would have crafted
She is boring, probably bored
Hasn’t heard me the first time
So I shout over the music
The tune is called
Monosyllables Affirm The Humdrum
To which she says Oh
and nods
Chagall 2016
I write at a desk
with a window behind me
When my screen goes dark
it reflects the sky
that spans there
over my shoulder
Where a red-tailed hawk
on air currents glides
circling my login prompt
Chagall 2016
I cherished
those youngest days
so lush, wet with life,
implicate order and hope.
Chagall 2015
Colored beads cover every atom of her surface
skin to halo collisions create misty aura
En pointe her tenons convey the brace of hearts,
on flex she sighs as she stretches that about her which is ground –
not earth, but the space against her figure where existence breaks into outline
against the void she enables
She hurtles through space, falls at the same pace
as mystifying tendencies there on the outskirts
My fingers trace her hem to a chorus of Amen
remnants of older chants echo about us
There is sadness in her beauty
melancholia piques her desire
We find random wonderful happenstance
perfect such that there’s no need for change
so we will time to stop to persist every aspect
to christen Us as timeless
Together we as twin stars bare
heavier atoms still
Chagall 2015
How I cherished those youngest days
so lush, wet with life,
implicate order and hope.
Chagall 2015
I fear we’re becoming
people who have no concern
for those who succeed us
Instead we live for the moment
without an obligating sense
to make Gaia inheritable
Similarly there are those
who have no reverence
for those who precede us
Family, tradition, culture and mores
reduce to biology resembling nothing
more than a gene pool
May they drown in the shallow end
Chagall 2016
There are high tones
in all things about her
Smell, sound, taste,
touch, sight
Her presence brings quick arousal,
awareness that life starts here
As her dimensions deepen
I find myself more
mystifyingly immersed
Oddly – sadly –
perhaps it is time
to part
Chagall 2015
A word, a blank page no more;
this is where couplets end.
From hereon in
strange waters.
The next view must speak louder
than nothing – if not, why bother?
Pictures are an option
just not here.
Help me to pluck ideas
from all these implicit ellipses.
Chagall 2016
When I am tired but inspired
I turn minimalism
Chagall 2015
I have memories
of being in echelon
which means that at one time
I must have flown
I can feel
where wings connected
between biceps and pectorals
the backward sweep of deltoids
to where flight would have taken hold
like a clamp
we hang low in the pocket in the rush of fresh air
hundreds of feet high in a V across calibrated
stagger as if random we bank in a frolic
as one gaining air on the others steep turns
tightly so much torque but our bodies are made
for bending flexing near breaking
Our hearts are different
not so resilient, they snap
because they’re unforgiving
Chagall 2016
