This morning’s chill reminds me
that summer is gone as you are
Yet my sandals still hold sand
the roar of distant surf
from our pas de deux
on the beach
under too many stars
seen only
if rarely
at this latitude
a specific tilt of the earth
brings us to this day
an offering on an axis
like a petal revealed
on the palm of a hand
opens slowly
to show you
before the approach
of wind gusts
carries it all
away
© Carlos Chagall, 2013
Loose fitting
ideas speak
comfort
XXL for the brain
without tuck
at the waist
billowy
cottony
down
a single seat
in the upper loge
is filled
You there
would you like
to come
down front?
Trespass
on private
land
Despite guarantee
of empty
arena
there’s always
someone
burning
breathing
here
© Carlos Chagall, 2013
I’m working quickly
save time
to slow down
relax
I’m yelling
at the top
of my lungs
turn hoarse
have nothing
to say
I’m staying awake
all week
to lie
soundly a while
sleep in
I’m starving myself
a slow fast
to feast
and the day’s
not holy
And now I’m getting
real close
in order to keep you
at bay
© Carlos Chagall, 2013
I laugh
smirk really
at your hesitation
to engage
Life!
What the fuck more is there?
Okay, excuse my French,
I’m buzzing here a while
Have you ever seen
lights so bright?
Have you ever whispered
so softly like this
in starlight?
Shh . . .
See the quiet moon beams?
Purple black.
I will kiss you now
in the shade
of Orion’s Belt.
I am so happy
that you are here
to share a field
so cold, so wide.
Run with me wildly
this night
in the glen.
© Carlos Chagall, 2013
The ghost is going
down smooth
spirits invoke
spirits, there’s no
telling when
the muse will come
she’s such
a fussy lover
I can labor here
for hours
though I really can’t complain
I could relish her taste
for hours
until she comes
in colors mostly
take life slow
life is anything
that doesn’t involve
the outside
looking in
am I being too obscure?
let me make it plain
life is you and me
on a raft afloat
clinging to
forever
© Carlos Chagall, 2013
Such a lonely song
keeps riffing through my head
tells a story
of love won
and love lost
and sought to be
won again
A Spaniard in matador
dress sets the stage
the mood is Trompe-l’œil
nothing’s real
though everything
matters
triplets cascade
to tell
the story
slip
slide
away
liquid phrases
melt in caramel
another time
when the world
was want
bulky caravan
advances
on the
sirocco
make love
here in the sand
in the overlooked dunes
are you really concerned babe
about what they’ll say
when it’s just me and you
facing new days?
love
reeks
strong
© Carlos Chagall, 2013
I can ride
for a couple
hours more
you’d be amazed
what a difference
a moment makes
don’t go
there’s a moment here
that’s most profound
a way to corral
the happenstance
such that
you’ll never let it go
get hooked
it’s not a passing glance
but a salute
to the live
breathless?
so am I
tickles may flee
but not necessarily
so
butterfly tongues
nothing more
nor less
doesn’t have to end
in a messy way
keep it crisp
clean
cold
and oxygenated
© Carlos Chagall, 2013
The only women awake
are having coffee
on another continent
My night-time call
is their wake-up
Still, so tender
like a phrase
nuanced
Hear me in the
10 AM
or is it
earlier
round your way?
© Carlos Chagall, 2013
I am going to end
the weekend
in major sevenths
such bittersweet
yearning
for that day
Emilia
when you were young
and you rode the day
luscious
in a word
hymns so haunting
they’d make you glide
in a soft dream
harmony so rich
and vague
still lush
before botox
you’d pucker
so ripe
I crane
and arc
like an egret at storm
bring me home
to alight
on land
on a sandy beach
in a time
not yet
fulfilled?
© Carlos Chagall, 2013
Oh God
that aroma
like the incense
the monks would burn
or the patchouli
of the long blonde
hippie girls
on 9th street
back in the day
or is it just
a joint burning
glowing tip
brings you closer
to the sweet surrender
to the beat
pop a down
from the edge of my hand
are you still
a voodoo child?
are you still there
my plum?
Forefinger to thumb
don’t you know
how to pass it?
© Carlos Chagall, 2013
Alphabet City 