In my custom
the women kiss the men
at first greeting,
and sometimes
it’s the other way round.
At first light
genders blur
and a kiss could come
from anywhere.
© Chagall, 2013
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On either side
of my wingspan
is enough room
to clear the break,
unless I lean
too fast,
snap intricate
delicate bones
one needs
to sustain flight.
When I hit
the ground
I will fall
no more.
© Chagall, 2013
She rides her neon scooter
on warm nights
a music-box
plays hand-spun tunes
small mallets
tickle her pinks
where fancies blur
in time-lapse
© Chagall, 2013
As I near your cheek
the world fades away
you loom larger there
before me
like a rock to be scaled
too steep it seems
for sure footing
if lips could walk
I close my eyes
whisper a prayer
and hurl myself off
from the ledge
© Chagall, 2013
From this pedestal
all I can see are bald spots
air’s thinner here too
© Chagall, 2013
I’m running downstairs
when my sock catches tread
for a moment only
and I feel
like I’m falling
till I right myself
in time
continue down
forgetting why
I started
this descent
to begin with.
© Chagall, 2013
Noise pollution
creates
eye candy
© Chagall, 2013
I hear everything’s tempo and rhythm these days
though the eyes don’t see it that way
There’s no accounting for taste, I feel
you just got to sniff around
© Chagall, 2013
Though her mind was intricate inlay
she refused to allow it
to pave the way,
so took roundabout steps
instead.
She’d dance barefoot on cold mosaics
that hid spirals, initials
and pentagrams,
set in black-white tiles,
really fine gray matter.
She ushers me in
an Escher-like place,
we forever return to the top
on descent,
’round the square,
where the monuments stand
tall to commemorate
what we don’t know
since the placards are old
and faded, but penned
in foreign ornate,
script of fine gold-leaf.
And then we’re on
a dusty path
beaten out
from the edge
of her towns.
She stands
in bold relief
against the fading
horizon
haloed by firefly
and reflected glow
of my exuberant awe
to be with her
in this special place
alone and so far
from home.
© Chagall, 2013
One minute I’m walking
warm through the field
and the next
it begins to snow
Flaked sandy drop
so steady
How quickly
it gets
knee-high
I trudge
through dark
gray cotton
light
right
before heavy
wet flakes
consume me
On my back laughing merrily
my heart pumping wildly
I drink in the fall from the sky
through a mouthful of stars
© Chagall, 2013
Alphabet City 