I write this one in the sand
because there’s no napkin handy
and it’d blow away anyway
here alive on the shore
etched with a pointer-like
driftwood sliver
easier than embossing
through molded mounds
at the tip of the wash
of surf roll
the message is scraggly
but clear
I LOVE YOU MORE THAN THE OCEANS ARE DEEP ____________________________________
(that long line’s me
walking away,
dragging my new-found stylus)
© Carlos Chagall, 2013
you appear
in the ocher light
of new planets dawning
a speck on the rim
beyond reach and time
receding at lightspeed
to a place where there is no sound
just space
and divine aspiration
© Carlos Chagall, 2013
Promise me you’ll live
not waste a moment granted
now this time you breathe
© Carlos Chagall, 2013
Their distant voices
remind me that life goes on
an arm’s length away
© Carlos Chagall, 2013
She guy rates
then gyrates
according to the score
for a ten
she performs
her Swann Dive
down in a heap
of flesh and feathers
so curly,
so smooth
baubles, bangles,
bubbles, dangles
snared in the stuff
of her making
comes and goes
impeccably slows
the pace to suit
her posture
poses her suitors
creatively so
dénouement
over demitasse
with her derrière
against the glass
© Carlos Chagall, 2013
She breaks too easy
for a woman
at the softest touch,
the lightest stroke
despite the care I take
to assure that only
ambient moonlight
touches her skin
she burns
that only the quietest
of whispers
would funnel to her mind
through the kisses I’d rain
on her ears
she’d tense
inhale sharply
in pain
sometimes cry
facing the wall
I can carry her
if she’d let me
the way from here
to anywhere
in the manner
she’d ask
handle with care
with the right side up
savor and adore
all that’s left
she draws the curtains now
they blow wildly and wrap her
in spectral gauze
she, before the window
in wan starlight
pale
smiling
seemingly
unbroken
© Carlos Chagall, 2013
Shake me hard
if I speak in tongues
bang my head
bring me ’round again
hide me in the hemlock
corners of a hedgerow maze
tat my wedding veil
from Queen Anne’s Lace
overcast pine-green days
where our circle has regressed
to snacking on morsels
from glue traps
chasing it down
with poke berry juice
our joints are inverted
at odd angles
hypothetically apocalyptic
pathetically elliptic
the smallest contaminants
of the planet hold sway
while we scratch away
the scabs for hours
the tedium
of delirium tremors
© Carlos Chagall, 2013
Don’t write a sonnet
if a scream will do.
© Carlos Chagall, 2013
How naked her tongue
electric red papilla
every bump excites
© Carlos Chagall, 2013
To leave one you love
is much harder than dying
second time around
© Carlos Chagall, 2013
Alphabet City 