Alphabet City

The untanned flesh
between her breasts
stands out like the cream
of an Oreo

Chagall 2019

Drizzle in the wetlands,
not rain but from morning’s
dewey canopy, the aroma
of green steam off the ferns,
joyous caws, mournful bellow
of doves, deep, resonant,
the sound of blowing into bottles,
sun so perfectly fractured into rays
catches ascending dust and insects,
tiny angels on the fly, I am so alive
without any hesitation to declare
indeed there is God.

Chagall 2019

Bugs who fly into your eye
are definitely suicidal.

Chagall 2019

I love the feeling when knickers slip off,
as waistbands start to descend

Chagall 2019

I wish I had stared at your face more,
seen sunlight refract to coax your colors
at every turn of the day, your image
failing my memory despite years
of having thought I saw

I will imagine starlight in your eyes tonight,
the play of shadow on your cheek,
the dark hollow of your neck,
as if I nestle there

I regret not having shaped my life
to behold you

Chagall 2019

I walk the long corridor, endless really,
not recognizing any of the writing on the doors,
the characters seemingly shift shape,
I’m unsure they’re even permanently etched,
fade in and out, light gray on gray,
the doors themselves without uniformity,
each a different size, no proportion,
without implication of what lies behind,
beyond

Chagall 2019

Pickle bottling day
with its tickling motley way
makes us happy

Chagall 2019

above the din
a calm
I ascend
to encounter

up!
float airily

Chagall 2019

Someone cooking with almond flour,
or marzipan, or maybe
cyanide.

Chagall 2019

So many good things come from the dregs,
croutons – for instance.

Chagall 2019