Today while reading Figure and Ground, I highlight
passages that I do not want to remember.
© Chagall 2017
Tag Archive: Writing
My pen appears happier
today to trace old lines,
worn-out niceties seemingly
inspired, but merely sophomoric,
a glimpse of infinity proffered
to none but the many.
I yearn to be
amid the few.
© Chagall 2016
Please accept this filament fine,
as I spun it just for you.
The silk that silk envies weaves
a gentle lattice about nothing.
No breeze stirs you suspended
on girders above trip-wire.
Speak! cries out in need
to fill space.
At the end, even now
we can still hear it echo.
© Chagall 2016
I sharpen my ellipsis
as I’ve got only one
expecting any sudden
opportunity to use it
as I please
Purposeful interposition of
space between
periods
to purport
more is
to come
Perhaps
I am
the ellipsis
Chagall 2016
I write at a desk
with a window behind me
When my screen goes dark
it reflects the sky
that spans there
over my shoulder
Where a red-tailed hawk
on air currents glides
circling my login prompt
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
Before time there wasn’t only
incessant heartbeat
Humans though water are merely steam
no less of all things
The moment before you knocked
the door swings open wide: you arrive
The ones already in search continue
long before you’re here
And wordless reads best
though you can’t remember
I relish the sizzle
when we meet ice
How we burn
underneath the numb
Chagall 2016
On guitar I played phrases
turned and inverted to prove
my love soars more than melody
Beyond that I can’t even
begin to remember
Uncertain where dulcet
turns somber
turn, dip, samba sways,
more nighttime, these
dazes, I stagger
Arpeggios of frozen air
trickle, trip, keep trickling
tickling my mouth, merging with spirit
erupting in steel
Solid steel
I am
immovable. I
am . . .
Chagall 2015
If words could dance down the steps like Astaire,
gingerly make their way on the balustrade,
slide the curlicue spiral to the bottom,
then these would be those, oh wouldn’t they be lover-ly?
© Chagall 2015
Threadbare themes are all I’ve left
discarded, dressed in symbol
so far removed from the pang in my gut,
the swift uptake of breath, the gasp
that attests to beauty, the prolonged
search for words to convey the fleeting
moment, one step behind disappears
a paintbrush stroke of water,
a wet hieroglyphic that mists in the hot sun
and is gone.
© Chagall
Alphabet City 