I have no energy left yet so much to say.
No, that’s not right. I simply have need to say something.
There is no specific content or quantity in mind.
I hope that in describing that need
I’ve said something.
Writing is no longer a viable alternative
for that primal scream I would emit
hurling myself off a rooftop.
Chagall 2015
As many possibilities for me
as there are stars in the sky
Strangely I feel
I can get to them all
© Chagall 2015
Alone at night I sip tea spiced with bergamot
under crisp cold stars and watch small planes overhead
strobe tail-lights and wings, on to steady red then off
to the past that comes readily as an echo
soars octaves in free-form under the dome
of souls in free flight under streetlight like soft snow
it’s the last hurrah: it’s the first hush.
So many little planes.
© Chagall 2014
Alphabet City 