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bye, passing thru

black-cherry-black: outlines objects
for those with night vision

I am cozy in its dark warmth

powder-blue-moonlight: stark relief
cooler gray shadows

night in the arbor lost-in-pink:
awake at first light
these are the deepest hues

breathe in
the petrichor
salty brine
lavender

© chagall ∞

Hataali

Atop the sand painting
it is hot enough
to open the blessingway

to reverse
the radials of color

mosaics of first people
blessing, angering

I fear
the surface dead

coyotes and amorphous creatures
scare away the horses

in the hearth is bread
of corn and coarse black pepper
sweeter by summer squash flowers

© Chagall ∞

I leap for the net with big holes
hoping I’ll miss and fall through

to be a mastermind I dress the part,
strip down

the cement is just for weight dear
look who’s back in town!

once I fell
and bounced
only to fall again

and one time
I soared

rooflines ascending
the light on the bridge

a star and
a sky carpet
race

only
to lose
to time

somewhere
it’s rain

rivulets
lap over dappled gray rock
pondering whether
to ripple

this life is
a crazy puddle

I say thank you
in primary colors

each rung
I reach to

awash
eternal

somewhere
it’s storm

© Chagall ∞

Only Final Drafts

I hate my Moleskin tablet
just way too much pressure
to get getting it right
the first
time

© Chagall ∞

The Ledge

Once in a landslide
I came to the edge
two steps away
from the fall

Carefully balanced
as if on trapeze
I prayed for
the crumble

To fall steady down
wind from anywhere

Anyone who cared could tell
I’d been asleep for a while

One final fingertip
scratches the ground
catching my breath
precedes free fall

then gravity

sinking, no water fills in the space
between me and the sky I float
down parting ways

Astride this time
unlike any I’ve ever ridden
must be the final wave

In crisp articulation
impressed on bottom sand

Running wild water angels

Awake in their trace
I lie down

© Chagall ∞

Ballad Her

People come and go
On and off, red tail lights
Sidle and yaw away

Round about this time
hover low over
things that I ought
to remember
but now…

People want to go
sometimes you know
then it’s time
to recall

That’s when breezes still

It’s been zephyr time
all the while

And I fall
silently awash in a rush
unlike any I’ve known

If only
fingertips

People will come and go,
after all life is here
for a while

To separate finely
to last

© Chagall ∞

Something I Said?

Writing is like wine: there’s too much good around to waste one’s time
with the bad…Hey! Where ya goin’?

© Chagall ∞

The Seer

Alphabet City

The Oracle reached across me
scented of myrrh and peppermint
her hair brushing my face
as she leaned in and whispered
hushed, seductive, wizened:

Carlos, my love, you must know
that across this earth, nay
the universe large, we are living
in the age of the asshole.

Chagall 2015

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She, the Zephyr

Alphabet City

I am intrigued by her etcetera,
the ellipsis she dangles without
modifier, the comma of her petulant
being, the subtle contour of her fonts,
the page she splays open while she sings
hymns to the bare branch, the storm
she incites with mere thought. She needs
no blessing nor permission to spin
maniacally as she pleases, a dervish,
a twirl.

© Chagall ∞

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She had a conniption at his addition
Of a fourth dot to the ellipsis

But it’s the end of a sentence he sighed
Oh God, yes she replied

With a moan made in heaven, mellifluous

© Chagall ∞

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