There used to be
a caesura here
It’s gone
Chagall 2016
Tag Archive: wordplay
It takes a village of knives
to make a great sandwich.
Chagall 2016
The cord
lacks rip
The lash
racks whip
The stick
licks lip
The joy
lacks kill
the vibe
They always do
Chagall 2016
here where there
is no
rip cord
nor zip line
i howl full bore
lost at the timberline
here where the air
is thin unseen
creatures scurry
i can
hear where they’re
hidden
lit towns
below me beckon
there where her
heart lies
there where there’s
no rest for the weary no
rest for the weary
no rest i remain
here where there’s
dark where i am the heir
apparent to invisible matter
Chagall 2016
Colored beads cover every atom of her surface
skin to halo collisions create misty aura
En pointe her tenons convey the brace of hearts,
on flex she sighs as she stretches that about her which is ground –
not earth, but the space against her figure where existence breaks into outline
against the void she enables
She hurtles through space, falls at the same pace
as mystifying tendencies there on the outskirts
My fingers trace her hem to a chorus of Amen
remnants of older chants echo about us
There is sadness in her beauty
melancholia piques her desire
We find random wonderful happenstance
perfect such that there’s no need for change
so we will time to stop to persist every aspect
to christen Us as timeless
Together we as twin stars bare
heavier atoms still
Chagall 2015
Too much optimism is cloying
while actuality is not quite as stark
as the realists might think
There is truth in the ground
but one needs to make figure
go away to see dark matter
The two profiles are the urn
a kiss creates then spills an ewer of honey
making for sticky back and fore grounds
Your aroma is metal, flinty
yet underneath sweet like talc
provoked aflame you are caramel
Stretched, kept in contact too long we fuse
the undersides along the length of our arms
our bellies plus our thighs adhere
Erasing the lines that define us
we become amorphous form with shading
Chagall 2016
Have you considered recently
refurbishing your haberdashery
or buying a brand-new commode, maybe armoire?
Some words must be paired
as fine wines vis-à-vis
fish or chicken.
Grassy, picked too young –
this one’s a hint of chocolate.
Barring any unforeseen outcomes
I’ll bet the barista falls madly in love
long before we reach five stanzas.
Chagall 2016
Words are the distance
from the sensate in my mind now in yours
Across the miles postmarked
whispers in a letterbox
I will shake you healingly
but maybe not lovingly
Listen – grab that
it’s a tale of umbilical proportions
I imagine that clay works
very much the same way
Chagall 2016
To love her
is so precisely
weightlessness
Chagall 2015
Alphabet City 