in the morning
i check in with my
mesophilic-yogurt-cultures,
bid them good day
early afternoon sometimes
i get high-go to the garden
pick pole-beans in the sun
dear child, at night i pray for your happiness
much-much-more than my own
Chagall 2019
I lie long ‘cross the bed’s diagonal
when there are short sheets,
lest my feet freeze
from the ankle
down
Chagall 2019
wires strung along the road atop wooden poles
follow the rise and run of the land for miles
in either direction
no houses, trees or shrubs anywhere, just gray
pavement snaking, unlined, unmarked,
the delicious smell of hot asphalt
people are talking on those wires, loved ones
near and far exchanging news and hopes
for a bygone day
darkness settles in along with the cicadas’ song,
cooler air prevails while starlight winks
behind thin cloud wisps
everywhere, everything falls,
helpless, in search of a gust,
an updraft
Chagall 2019
And when she passed, I ate her peach pie
for a day or two, and marveled over her
ever having been
Chagall 2019
Yesterday I experienced sexual release of such great intensity
that I think it actually corrected a back problem I’d been having
for the past 20 years.
Chagall 2019
Those who take pride in telling it like it is,
and letting you know that they’re the sort who tell it like it is,
and of whom others refer as those who like to tell it like it is,
rarely – if ever – like to be told what it’s like.
Chagall 2019
Sometimes I forget where you are,
what day it is, but rather than
panic I revel in the freefall
of not knowing.
Chagall 2019
I was surprised to see
when I finally looked up,
how many things are falling.
Chagall 2019
she complains that
I don’t do nothing
I yell back
Who the hell do you think dead-heads the marigolds!
Chagall 2019
The heat and moisture from her hand is
sufficient to poach the wild sorrel,
on seeded salted buttered bread,
we wash it away with sips of cold brook
Chagall 2019
Alphabet City 