I’ve nowhere to turn except
to the expression of the timeless.
Though I am tired I forge ahead
convinced that the road leads direct
to the fount of some wisdom yet
undiscovered. Sadly, I am mistaken.
© Chagall ∞
Tag Archive: meaning
My love poem to you has been translated
by one from your land and language. It says:
My major organs leap from their confines to enable
coexisting in the same ethereal space as your exultations.
Clearly the word was intended to be “exhalations.”
© Chagall ∞
Verbally conjugating verbs
during conjugal visits
Possible draconian measures
by the benevolent order of Sisters
The jiggling of the cord was
no cause for ellipsis
Precisely varicose veins
judge not the eclipse
Druids draw fluids nervously
surmising bang for the buck
F&@k!
(hard stop)
(big finish)
And that’s what it’s all about!
© Chagall 2016
The procession begins,
mere letters shape form
from void, become benign
shapes we call words,
to beget concept.
Me?
I’m happy
right here.
© Chagall 2016
Inside
each poem is
another poem
I find myself
looking
for them
Chagall 2016
Humanity is the joy
we bring to those
one degree
of separation
away.
Chagall 2016
So subtle this thing called language
rears its head above tangled perception
discernible froth we skim cerebral
I prefer raw more sensuous groping
meaningful wordless visceral stew
the lasting poems of impulse
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
I was rocking a Lower East Side tee
the kind with a map on front
when a pigeon released herself from high
and it landed on the site I was born
© Chagall 2015
I find myself
on this road again
so soon I’ll be lost
at the turn.
© Chagall 2015
Alphabet City 