A hollow tube
filled with tones
and stars.
Icy blue
at the edge.
Nothing but
stars.
An expansive dome
shone with star-tone.
Dearest One,
Tonight tender doom?
No question!
Your Dear,
Dominique
© Chagall, 2013
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Seriously – that’s the time?
I’ll need to jot this off
real fast.
So the point . . .
yes, I’m sure there was one,
but I must get to it
quickly.
Life.
Live it.
The end.
I will fill in the rest
later.
But for now
gotta go.
© Chagall, 2013
In the box she kept
more than the stubs,
the ripped ends of tickets
to everywhere.
The wood-frame held the scent,
and newness of old days:
the landscape and promise
of remnant years.
Buttons, and curls,
and postage stamps,
cancelled from missives
Par Avion
Assorted rings and tie pins,
a sonogram, a hospital bracelet,
a telegram from Iwo,
and even a dried, powdered navel
(I swear that this is true!)
Safety pins,
old Polaroids, a radiated dime
from the ’63 World’s Fair.
A small square swatch
of fabric for a living room
that never saw the light of day
through tenement windows
Mass cards,
an old token,
a rubber coochie coin purse,
and a faded picture
of me.
© Chagall, 2013
It moves from me
in quiet froth
a verb
on a mission
efficacious
I would hurl
epitaphs instead
but they’re way too heavy
and oddly shaped
for effective
crisp defamation
In Italy
when the weather’s bad
they say
Fa cattivo tempo
So I say that
fast and over and find
some fleeting satisfaction
Warships aft,
life’s about to suck
and everyone is thinking
Frigate
© Chagall, 2013
How I loved
living life
with her.
Anticipated her every
moment.
Pondered how
she made me wonder
of all things.
She would sidle alongside
and coo,
always exuding
harmony.
© Chagall, 2013
Lightning-gales on wing
alight about eventide
too tired yet to sing
© Chagall, 2013
Her name was Brochette,
Brucie for short,
a crusty hot
cheesy babe.
With morbes so bogged
and pleats quite slunked,
she’d R-Sock
your Cameroon flat.
© Chagall, 2013
Through with the band,
off the island,
singled
the odd girl
out.
No worries,
it’s autumn,
the time is right
to pickle
sweet
melancholia.
© Chagall, 2013
At one time
everywhere,
now nowhere.
They’re somewhere, wherever
your heart has left you.
Remember forever
to rein it in,
the day needn’t
escape you.
© Chagall, 2013
A canopy of shade
just off the shore
under the cool
of large palms
to adorn the breastplate
where once we wore armor
copper and pewter
ewers pour
honey
dripped
embroidery
burnt-sugar
stencils
interwoven
about the neck
a lacy tat
décolleté
© Chagall, 2013
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