To indulge the juvenile delinquent
in us, divulge if you would delight
in making out for a moment?
Nothing real crazy
just a peck or too
or three will do.
Nose-to-nose who knows
how far we goes, head to toes
maybe.
We
shirk
all
pressure.
Who knew so little soap
could emit so much lavender.
Chagall 2015
I continue to search for soft wind
to blow the gentler spirals that were once
aloft above metropolis, pinwheels of fallen dreams
so many ticks on the tape ago, confetti
don’t rain on her parade though it pours on mine
and she and I have no umbrella, just tiny Chinese
parasols we grip between our teeth
to shelter our hearts from the storms approaching,
eddies, torrents, and twisters, so difficult
near impossible, to steal a kiss this way.
Chagall 2015
The leaves outside my window
couldn’t be more red, more red
than I have ever seen.
The sky above my head
couldn’t be more blue
yet less blue than I am now.
Chagall 2015
From here on in
the lesson gets harder,
loss more bittersweet
than gain less fulfilling
but still high stakes
and so worth playing
I’m living, I’m doubling
down from here on in.
Chagall 2015
Autumn still conveyed my vibrant colors
until I realized it really wasn’t youth at all.
Chagall 2015
I’m finding more
guitar picks
laying lying around
these days
I’m feeling
more nimble
then and than
stars
We, I believe
are our own
answers
Swear
on a pinky
ring
More in
a haze
these days
Amazing these
swifty
autumn ways
Chagall 2015
I see trails, no light incites them
across weary eyes’ dull cones
the aftermath of her once, seen now gone
a fragrant sight, a dulcet taste
a sonorous breath, avalanches of undisturbed
moments froze tick steadily, the incessant sound
of no breathing, pulses of heartache
always forever on never an offbeat
splendor in the sere grass, shoes kicked off
dust kicked up, hopes kicked in dashed Kewpie’s knocked down
on ancient boardwalks calliopes beckon the lights
incite the trails that streak my vision
comet extinction, another time around
Chagall 2015
When she was a child we played a game
we pretended to be high on a cliff at the edge
losing grip on our footing we’d plummet
down off the bed as if from Everest
at the last minute grabbing hands in mid-air
in outstretched rescue every sinewy muscle
straining to hold onto life. She writes
that it’s readied her well for the fight,
she loves me, it’s time to let go.
Chagall 2015
So far from the endless fields
of lavender once called home.
© Chagall 2015
She said flowers are for making
sweet nothing of the air, she’d wave
her bouquet in sweeping arcs,
to trace comets she saw there,
streaks of scent, slow color to fade
figments, flames in the dark dimmed
to a lilac’s breath, her intentions lingered
longer than she, still remain.
© Chagall 2015
Alphabet City 