Ethereal music formed on the edge of calm
Jumped electronic gym dandy
Morning coffee fog
Slingshot birds disintegrate
Tornadoes grind through towns
Subject to subjectivity
Love and mud inside
Cut me some slack
I danced for you.
Lovers in Black
After Marc Chagall
Compare us to the couple kissing
in Chagall’s India-ink drawing.
She bears down on him ghoulish and proud, dark-eyed.
Chagall’s postcard adorns my cabinet.
You and me—our dark theatrical days.
Chassidic souls brimming with song. Russian nights,
Belted drinks. On the roof you parted
my legs beyond the frum family’s barbeque
Jostling love and fecklessness.
Chagall’s young man turns into a beast.
Their lips brush. He clutches fire.
She fits like a card in his pocket.
Love and art—such fruitful madness — how do they endure?
Flying cows and chortling roosters, kisses that miss the mark.
Victory obtained in black. Plush. Obscure.