Innovative sorts
Like Steve Jobs, only haiku
To the crazy ones
© Chagall 2015
Archive for February, 2015
Right ’round the time of my birthday in May
I start to trim down, in June wine and dine her,
in July bring her flowers and candy, so that
we can hook up some cool night in August
to loll and to make more May babies.
© Chagall 2015
Spectral howls beckon
High above the timberline
Where she begets stars
© Chagall 2015
Soon will be our turn
Grieving mothers in darkness
Suns die everyday
© Chagall 2015
I place my bookmark upside down
or right-side up, pointing front
or back, to easily resume
from where I’ve stopped,
top-left open or bottom facing
that sort of thing;
my read of you though
leaves me so
I keep my mark
on its edge.
© Chagall 2015
At the stop sign
in the tinted glass
of the hatchback
before me, reflections
of eagles flying
until the small blue
import in front proceeds,
leaving me next, alone
at the corner. I crane
to gaze out my sunroof,
a final glimpse of echelon.
© Chagall 2015
Have a great week. Hoping it’s warm where you are. —Carlos
Twice I watched her leave,
always the strange wisps vanished;
nothing to hold on.
© Chagall 2014
At least once a week, I search Google Maps,
for your house and I know it’s that day
we played hooky from work, July 2012, so hot,
the neighborhood empty and us in the backyard,
you pouring lemonade, I strumming serenades,
barefoot loungers on Barco chairs, watching the world go by,
high from the satellite’s view I zoom slowly
till I enter your heart again.
© Chagall 2015
When you’re asleep
afterglow on your face
so peculiar, remarkably
lovely
© Chagall 2015
Mopping up sprinkles on fingertips, the end of the party,
round sweet remnants, in so many colors, matched the balloons
that bobbed overhead, and I upside down on my bed
pretended to walk on the ceiling.
© Chagall 2015
Alphabet City 