Tag Archive: memory


Da Capo al Signo (Settle a Score)

I remember (once) stringing my Strat with nylon

Then I turned the twin reverb on:
no magnetics, no sound
but great action

My friend Pete played so loud
we bought him a number 11 jersey

Vovo would pan for seeds down
inclined album covers

Sara would flick ashes onto her jeans
and rub it in to add wear

And Bob Smith (true name)
stole my Sunn concert lead amp-head and
my Zimgar conga shells
that I bought from Benitez
in the early ’70s; old-Robby
one morning vacated the house we
used for practice

S**thead couldn’t even keep a beat

Chagall 2019

Alight

We were the last,
sad you don’t remember,
the high cliffs overlooking
an ocean, I can’t recall
its color, but the salt mist
remains upon my tongue, as if
the name of a newborn, like
sparks at the edge of vision

And now we are the first to set foot
here on the softest of downs

Chagall 2019

Warm Rivulets Between Rills

You remind me of someone you were, how you do that
so perfectly effortless

Evoke the we that we were
cue the salty sea air

Everything about then is beach-washed
designs, that’s how I remember

How could it be otherwise, the
other times we would soar

Just a little
bit more

We remind us
of then

Join me. Inhale – long –
and hold it gently.

© Chagall ∞

Grandpa would flash a spray of cool water
each morning on the panting gray cement
stones about the yard, colors and hues
of the earth’s minerals flushed deep
brought to life in small puddles
accumulated there near the clover tufts
holding tight in the cracks, the crevices
abutting the frame, the scene at large,
we pan higher than we did that day,
all of our life there in neat little
bunches of boxes in boxes where people we love
carry on, carry out their days, turning on and in
and out and back, to a different way as hope goes,
newly baptized, in deep commune, confirmed, wed to all,
in repose amid the somber hymns of concluding rites,
beneath grandpa’s spray, a flash of silver liquid,
an old man’s giggling face lost in the brilliant sun
of a promise forever solvent.

© Chagall ∞

Tension and Tense

I am as young as this moment allows but no less.
Someday I’ll have been here again.

© Chagall ∞

 

A Wisp of a Kiss is a Kisp

As the beat goes it says
so much to do so instead
do nothing – lose myself
in any direction – when
I was a girl once combed
in elusive fashion – was
more than I’d ever do –
take myself in any direction
– laughter rings and never
fades, simply dies away though
fingertips touched so lightly.

© Chagall ∞

Überblick

Each sense has a cache of
residual reality
attention!
not memory at-work at all,
just dimming glows, we filter
the actual,
we choreograph the quintet,
low-capacity volatility,
mosaic,
iconic,
saccadic.

© Chagall ∞

You Would Have

To fulfill the destiny of the other
without consideration for ever having to fulfill one’s own
made for a far more spectacular life and so we chose it
without any regrets left unconsumed by actuality.

Sometimes it rained darkly in the seams of horizons stretched
like tired eyes across cityscapes, she blinks away drops.
A puddle is a place to dance – we pas de deux, slosh …
slow feet drag through heavy water.

Might I kiss you here? This place on this spot. See how words
convey no meaning at all! Lips, before the fountain, respectively.
Years from now the others will correctly say it’s Dijon
for look closely – see it, do you – the carousel?

© Chagall 2017

Stark Relief

Today while reading Figure and Ground, I highlight
passages that I do not want to remember.

© Chagall 2017

The Final Eve

The last silver streamer alights,
confetti and ticker tape abandon flight,
balloons fall from celebration
failing to be held aloft.

Remember when we were? Each awakening brought
a new day with new sun in which we bathed defiant,
we dared it to blind us, we countered with our own
heat, radiance, impulse to grow, and then to burn away.

Soft brooms whisk the memory; the clink of glasses raised
to toast is still there, not quite yet imperceptible.

© Chagall 2017

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