Intrigued, I asked her
could I peek behind the veil.
She obliged.
I’ve been immobile
since.
Condemned
to a single thought.
Intrigued, I had asked her.
Chagall 2015
Tag Archive: language
Sometimes I right-click, toggle the Language
to some exotic setting, then I travel
vicariously through font and accented characters
I wax eloquent, coerce my prose forward
on-line editing is friendly that way
I am riding the metro my dear, I will be home
to our small flat in that city where the Language
has a large following of speakers
I am fluent, the years have treated you well
how I still love embracing you every night
I say I love you in every language possible
as a ritual every night I’m compulsive that way
it takes hours I know I’m sorry
I will right-mouse-click us out of this jam pronto
Chagall 2015
All I want to do this morning
is to tickle your mind so that
it’s impressed by the same grey
morning I’m experiencing here
electrically sublime anticipating
the vestige of today.
Chagall 2015
I’m finding more
guitar picks
laying lying around
these days
I’m feeling
more nimble
then and than
stars
We, I believe
are our own
answers
Swear
on a pinky
ring
More in
a haze
these days
Amazing these
swifty
autumn ways
Chagall 2015
Obtuse
oblique
opaque
but
oh so
entertaining
Chagall 2015
When she was a child we played a game
we pretended to be high on a cliff at the edge
losing grip on our footing we’d plummet
down off the bed as if from Everest
at the last minute grabbing hands in mid-air
in outstretched rescue every sinewy muscle
straining to hold onto life. She writes
that it’s readied her well for the fight,
she loves me, it’s time to let go.
Chagall 2015
I wish I could scream
raise the words from the page
and hurl them in your face
© Chagall 2015
Your eyes find these words
Across the chasm they come
Light up the dark bridge
© Chagall 2015
We only had words, no meaning,
long liturgical drones,
endless hours, sonorous
dirge-like ponders, attempts
to reveal the roiling core
of our humanity, of love as ground
for creation, essentially to invert,
to feel likewise on the inside,
overlooking already being
once removed from having once felt,
a mist on the face of the water.
© Chagall 2015
You and I, we are
such partitive people,
our hearts set on some
or any, but never specifically
this one, a bit of or a kissful
of that.
© Chagall 2015
Alphabet City 