Death is not absolute for those who stand above, outside
where spirit begets body – the wonder, not where body begets spirit,
for that would be a wonder of wonders.
© Chagall ∞
Tag Archive: life
Melting pots aren’t all the same.
Go find your own.
© Chagall ∞
The tapping whisper of rain,
Gulls soar, serifs against the long stretch
Of sky and land, the mosaic face of water,
Morning air, thin and cold, early day
Mist envelops always, hope is desire
To release, to touch the atmosphere,
To mean the words yet to find tongues,
Tone recedes into tones receding, the far edge
Where filaments unravel into the empty, void
Unless stamped otherwise, a puddle to stomp,
A bright yellow-slicker, the tapping whisper
of rain.
© Chagall ∞
I never wanted anything more
than nothing less.
© Chagall ∞
Imagine silence
Barren fields glow red neon
Now torrential rain
© Chagall ∞
Is poetry the poignancy
of thought or is it the
syncopation, the flowing
water of sound from page
to ear? Rivulets of tone
wash over you, leave you
untethered; to slip away,
stealthily glide to the
ether, is all I ever wanted.
© Chagall ∞
In my tub there is a dish
tied to the rim with a rope
and in that dish there is a bar,
a bar of raspberry soap. One day
I scrubbed and lathered clean with
my bar of purple delight, I went to
work where people asked if of me could
they please take a bite. I fought them off
the whole day long, quitting time rolled near.
Soon I would be alone with that soap I held so dear.
The office cleared, an echoing hush, everyone left the grounds.
I ran to the john, lathered my soap, and made little raspberry sounds.
© Chagall ∞
Everyday I find myself
with less incentive,
diminished energy;
subdued, I stoke
my flame for
the long
haul.
© Chagall ∞
I had merely pointed out that one could actually
wash the pot out while waiting for the oatmeal to cool.
© Chagall ∞
Alphabet City 