Same bug’s been on the screen for hours now
basking in sun luxuriant as I. I no longer
desire to swat You with my towel
for we are one.
© Chagall ∞
Tag Archive: religion
In an instant the sound of the ocean ceased
and in that vacuum nothing remained
save the din of human voices.
© Chagall ∞
She is comprised solely
of essential oils, lovely
silken flow, pistons in valve
lubricant, stamens on pistil,
pollen swollen anthers, she wills
the will of the wisp to do
her bidding, she calls sweetly
through the nightbird, coopts
its thin coiled chord to vocalize,
to trill appoggiatura.
I relax limb and tenon about her,
promenade on wrists and knees:
gymnopédie as it was meant to be,
arched, pointed, and flexed.
© Chagall ∞
Light will guide me back
To ascension, a view from above,
Lofty gray weightlessness,
Ethereal suspension among birds
Of distinction, marked no longer
By petty ways, now only grand schemes
To return one again to a state of grace,
To engulf my self, to imbibe as well
The liquid of life, thus to hang in the balance,
Neither here nor there as it should be, to be
Either actually is a penchant unchained still linked
To time, once blinded I sensed the fence surrounding
Me so I blinked and clicked my heels, an attempt to awaken,
To rise, to ascend, score a view from above in the lofty gray.
Weightless.
© Chagall ∞
Petite organisms traipse ever so tipsily
o’er the photosynthetic landscapes of leaves
on yonder trees and nearby yews, everyone’s doing
the tango, the tangle of photons, lip-locked organelles,
dancing to Miles’s Solar.
© Chagall ∞
We would meet up and lose our minds together.
You could say we had a cata-platonic relationship.
© Chagall ∞
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 ∞
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 ∞
In the space there between slipped fingertips
whorls of sound explode into bursts of light
© Chagall ∞
Alphabet City 