Wielding the pen is the poem
is it not?
That we are at all
more ponderous
than why.
Tell me again what I’ll tell you,
I never grow tired of hearing.
You arrive before that which precedes me,
such is my life, these latent neurons.
And love?
Rain, alchemy, inevitable parting,
the last touch of fingertips in a crowd.
The sweet and sour and salt of you –
such a heady bouquet.
Chagall 2015
Young sad girl on a train
she’s watching
Towns and worlds
go by
Speed her away
Through misted window
sun streaks
She shifts so her front’s
to the past
Her back yet
to the wall
She’s pulled now
no longer pushed
Sound upon motion
after all
Alone,
she speeds her away
Chagall 2015
21 years since you passed
today, 21 years Chloe
I felt you strongly while driving,
called out your name, give me a sign
that you’re there, that you hear
I cried when the car
ahead of me turned
to reveal a truck in front
with license plate CHL124
I love you Chloe
Chagall 2015
I love the way
sound sounds
in slow crunchy snowfall
there’s no doubt
that we’re inside
the dome
Chagall 2015
She’d already begun her fade to phantasm
a moment before dodging the flood,
how nimbly she came and went at will
a slow pulsing light in my life.
Chagall 2015
Quickly before the fire dies
leaving us in darkness
I need to see your face
the round of your cheek
soft lash holding
a bead of tear
Chagall 2015
She fell from the branch
immediately shaping a figure S
then soared on a wing full of air
while I remain here unamused
lacking desire to fly
Chagall 2015
She said
I’m a frigging avatar
who’s gonna know?
I told her
I’d know.
To which she smirked
then faded.
Chagall 2015
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
Comatose except perhaps in trances
I’m obliged to amble – a somnambulist I am
the wisp’s own will, a fleeting glimpse
As a flitter upon a cheek’s a lash
the softest breeze that wind can muster
flutters by
I’m lost in your shallow breathing
in a warm cocoon spun of chestnut tendril
sweet oily aromatique
It takes but a moment to finally cease
I wait just a beat, then you’ll know
Chagall 2015
Alphabet City 