I told her that a man’s weight
is inversely proportional
to the quality
of his sex
She said she’d mull that over
a slab of Toblerone
© Carlos Chagall, 2013
Archive for September, 2013
Just one more before I go,
a parting shot so pure,
so divine,
so . . .
© Carlos Chagall, 2013
From April 30th ——Chagall
It’s been said
love’s accents are all that remain,
the patois of paradise.
The bloodrush, quick pulse,
nuance, inflection,
when spirits soar.
But now there are no words.
Every way back
to you is blocked.
Halls that lead to nowhere:
the shady corners
of your maze.
I shout your name
from under the canopy,
ancient fronds.
Cool pools lap,
the sole reply
in chill morning.
Haze about my ankles
swirls and spirals me up,
through the thicket.
Aloft,
I search about the mist,
but find I’m no less lost,
despite this vantage.
I sense
I am
imperishable.
I return to my native seat
when the music stops,
sure to find you there,
but mistaken.
I am alone
on the edge that lies ahead,
eternal as the road behind.
So strange to live forever?
Stranger still
that we were at all.
© Carlos Chagall, 2013
you make making love
so hard
so easily
every move
a counter
a feign
bridges down
roads closed
broken tees and ells
no egress
here
or there
velvet ropes
cordon off
police marked
yellow tape
chalk outlines
of little bodies
dead teddy grahams
tattooed to keep
the body count
show
the skeleton closet
you like it fast
the speed of light
a pace I can’t sustain
without time
travel
and so you come
before you
go
and that’s why
I’m gone
before
we’ve met
be glad
I find cold
so hot
© Carlos Chagall, 2013
Oh pistachio
I could eat you forever
Such is lust for nuts
© Carlos Chagall, 2013
Your hair, pulled back
a soft salted bun
clears the way
for the light
to touch your eyes
carve the fine lines
of your face
my dearest
you’re the last
the queen of Portugal
fairest from the house
of Braganza
You were born
Maria
da Glória
Joana Carlota Leopoldina
da Cruz
Francisca Xavier
de Paula Isidora Micaela
Gabriela Rafaela Gonzaga
a name for the ages
these women were all
you wrapped up
and trapped there
as one
reign on
Good Mother
you taught us
that mind
is the gateway
to soul
and to die for one’s cause
is most noble
© Carlos Chagall, 2013
Look up to the sky,
no – higher than that,
crane way back
carve an arc
till you’re horizontal
broken at the waist
a radical limbo
now drop all the tons
of heaven square
on your chest
to lay you to
the ground
flat and pressed
like a penny
dispensed
from a carnival
machine stamped
in god we’d trust
if only we could find her
© Carlos Chagall, 2013
The light hasn’t come
yet the promise of new day
today is certain
© Carlos Chagall, 2013
I plant a seed
it grows
until
it doesn’t
I climb till
I abandon
the pass
the past
you’ve said
still lingers
in small corners
the high shelves
of cupboards
tucked away
summer
cottage-gray mornings
burned clean
brilliance in
sunrise
a line of us
miles long
cross-legged
on the beach
staring out
to the ocean
© Carlos Chagall, 2013
Heard that the post office is going away
as well as AM radio,
film photography too,
though vinyl’s making
a sort of comeback.
Harder to find
a payphone nowadays
along with etiquette, courtesy,
genteel and polite society
that once helped
make the world
go round.
© Carlos Chagall, 2013
Alphabet City 