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Outpacing Peter (2013)

Faster than Peter,
past acacia and carob,
I ran to the tomb.

We sang, we danced,
embraced and wept,
jumped up and down, cried out.

Our voices echoed:
the chamber there was empty
past the low doorway.

Alone in the damp,
except for our friend’s garments;
his scent was still there.

I ran past Mary,
leaving the rich man’s garden;
Arimathean

sweet hawthorn kindled
the fires of Golgotha,
from the day before.

Past olive, almond,
apricot, pine, turpentine,
I ran to tell them.

© Carlos Chagall, Easter Sunday, 2013

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Dot Love You

I invoke my dead mom as if she were Siri,
I say Hey Mom, make it stop raining

Chagall 2019

Sometimes we are possessed.
Who knows why.

Chagall 2019

Podded Peas

She said I’ve
two different
shoes, same
foot, I say
my life’s been
pretty much
the same

Hop to me, baby

Chagall 2019

Kushy

The tickle in your brain when you’re sober
outshines any high.

Chagall 2019

The Spirit Renewed

Imagined filament snares lost angels,
yet hosannah still sings

In time those strands do fade

Hear the bells,
sounds of joy

The beat of wings

Chagall 2019

Moonrise Beach

Original music from Carlos Chagall, vocals by Seb Greco
Headphones recommended – turn it up – warmer weather is on the way – at least in my part of this hemisphere, on this planet, this ‘verse (uni or otherwise), during this our time.

Release Me, Let Me Go

I want you
to know that

I giggle hysterically
when I come

Haven’t laughed
like this in years

Chagall 2019

Zeno’s Tenth Paradox

The money I withdraw
to pay last year’s tax,
is itself taxed, and will be
the basis for having to withdraw
more money next year, ad infinitum

Chagall 2019 – No taxation without constipation!

It’s Friday – we have music on our minds. Hope you have an opportunity to throw some headphones on and give us a listen. This is an original piece – early revision. Vocals by Seb Greco. All music and arrangement by Carlos Chagall.

LYRICS
runoff from the high ground breaks through
from under ice-crusted snow, cold water flows
such a deep blue that its black,
like the lines of a broad felt marker

salt left behind by a tear,
cooled in the wind,
dried on your cheek

you ask me if I will stay mad all day,
I ponder if I am simply supposed
to support all you purport to be
despite overwhelming evidence to the contrary

in response I ask
how can I be sure

I turn to watch the bolt of
life from the underbrush
startled by your footfall

you oversimplify the world, I say,
there’s a lot of gray between here and now

while you overcomplicate it, she says,
…I’m right here

you ask me if I intend to remain mad all day,
I ponder if I am simply supposed
to ignore, forgive, forget,
despite overwhelming evidence to the contrary

I turn to watch the bolt of
life from the underbrush
startled by our footsteps

you overestimate your claim to the world, I say,
there’s a lot of gray between now and then

while you overcomplicate it, it’s all here,
it’s all right, she says

runoff from the high ground breaks through
from ice-crusted snow cold water flows
deep blue-black like the lines of a broad felt marker

Chagall 2019

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