Archive for January, 2014


Why, Every Turn

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White noise
not a little but
a lot of static
a yard of broken glass, where old hearts
lie as bases for games
we play and we slide
into home where we sleep
unaware that we sleep, in any sense
of the word we vow
to uphold the word
and the world is no better for having spun
its yarns
strangle
but keep us warm where there’s need
to sleep with one, two, three eyes
open, dear one
dearest one, the purest
of pure form aspire
to one day inspire, be
all of the days
we settle for less
no more

© Chagall 2014

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Haven’t seen much grass lately, waiting for the thaw. Have a great weekend. —Chagall

Alphabet City

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Love on

the rocks can be

very painful, she said

wouldn’t you rather make love on

the grass?

© Carlos Chagall, 2013

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Saudade

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My mind peeks out, seeks air, so sad
under blankets. Thoughts pop as geysers arise
entangled, grasped straws if I choose
to embellish unbounded horizons under low ceilings
so dead certain that’s all there is, all that will never be
again, this time slowly I am the clouds, fast
to set out without intent to come in or down
nor at all.

Fogbound and holy, baffled unlucky in love
unveiled this final hour, an instant before
all fades to black on wistful remains,
too much hurt to call it a day so we name her instead
Melancholia. Inside me my memories melt and fade
to unnamed stars that confuse the way
and the poetry’s wrong to herald these end times.

Grips loosen, tugs turn to slack, leaving no tether or hope,
I relinquish my heart as I spiral away.

© Chagall 2014

Mon Avis

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Hey!  You missed a spot.

No, not on the floor,
in your life, I mean.

See?  You can see it from here.

© Chagall 2014

Haiku For Seen From A Cradle

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I miss my mother
young memories of her eyes
my first creation

© Chagall 2014

Crucifer

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Brassica, sad and lonely:
melancholy-flower.

© Chagall 2014

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I’ve a universe abloom in the cellar
early expansion, just seconds old
can fit in my hand, both hands now,
but man, let me tell you, it’s hot!

The roaches appear to fear the neutrinos,
finally they’ve met their match,
they scatter and hide, no laughing dark matter

as a dense and fog-like wannabe light
obscures the path to the boiler

In minutes the ceiling buckles then pops
to reveal through the gape of its tear
the Cubans who live in apartment 1C
backed to the wall, frenzied signing the cross
as their floor dissolves and withers away

Then we double and treble and do it again
and again, maybe once-twice more

Until Alphabet City hovers and throbs
in pulsating light, still too bright,
it buzzes new colors, these youngest days
wet and lush, teeming with life,
implicate order and hope

And that’s where it stops, thank God (I guess)
’cause we’ve all got our trains to catch

© Chagall 2014

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All of creation falls
blurs on rainy panes
opaque and eternal
these gray days

little beads
at a crawl
descend

slowly
drip
by
drop

© Chagall 2014

Rite

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Fervor helps
to make it so.

The last prayer then
is easy.

They let you down
so easy.

© Chagall 2014

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Cover of St. Vincent’s “The Party”

C. Chagall – Guitars
Sebastien Greco – Vocals
Bambino Cuadrado – Percussion
DD Rivera – Bass, Synth

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