Yeah, about as liberal as my butt.
She doesn’t even compost!
Chagall 2015
Tag Archive: actuality
Any two people
anytime
reflect the face
of each other
a patch of land at sea
under starlight
is where I embrace you
we kiss to the lap
of warm waves
a timeless moon-blue
velvet moire overhead
opens to the expanse
of all existence
a single moment
an eternal glimpse
Chagall 2015
The mirror clearly said msispilos
so I took it and smashed it repeatedly,
vehemently before shocked onlookers
until all I had left was a single splinter
of the handle in my hand.
And that – as they say – is that.
Chagall 2015
It’s Saturday morning,
I find within my mind
that which allows it
to never slip away.
© Chagall 2015
She and I, so similar – two peas
in separate pods each desiring
the annihilation of the other.
© Chagall 2015
Threadbare themes are all I’ve left
discarded, dressed in symbol
so far removed from the pang in my gut,
the swift uptake of breath, the gasp
that attests to beauty, the prolonged
search for words to convey the fleeting
moment, one step behind disappears
a paintbrush stroke of water,
a wet hieroglyphic that mists in the hot sun
and is gone.
© Chagall
Working right now on the internet’s interplanetary expansion,
appearances point to IPv12 to provide all that we’ll need
to be heard above the din of inter-creative force, a border protocol
at the edge near the boundary right before event horizons suck you in,
all for the sake of smileys bounced between the stars.
Winding down, springs relax long
given room to breathe,
not taut as before, just now
assembled here together with me, outstanding
but a step apart, a whisper in the ear, an aside,
a glimpse nonetheless intimates air upon a wave
upon a cheek a kiss fell once upon a time
while winding down we tucked each other in
to the chin in deep warm down, and down I go
in a spin – black magic I’ve heard, dance with me
under devil moons – but those are just clouds
I’d say. And grace rises up from the ground, a pond
upon which we walk, the softest step,
we surf smoothly, skimming on the soles of our feet
moving as we do in our dreams, but now awake and able to fly
here just like there, hovering high and low on a whim,
as we desire. Take your time. Decide. Where shall we go?
© Chagall 2015
Step naturally now
listen to your footfall
there among broken steps
and frail dis-hope
how lightly
you traipse
the rise
you
get
above it.
© Chagall 2015
Endless possibility filled the moment
(which happened to be morning) sun
baked me dry and timeless so I became
one with the sky so far
above the ground I hover, delight
in my self now not at all
sad to lose it.
© Chagall 2015
Alphabet City 