The hummingbirds of summer are gone
now suddenly
Chagall 2017
Archive for September, 2017
Nothing to say today; the sweetness of the air does suffice
Sugary cool waters I gulp, I breathe briskly – it’s cold
But I am still warm so I exhale the mist that mimics my shape
I am there in the wind’s disentangling
Chagall 2017
516: The inflexibility of myopic points-of-view
interferes with the achievement of nuanced perfection.
517: #42 should be retired from all sports.
Chagall 2017
I remember saying Dad, you want a half-and-half?
And he joked You don’t know how to make a half-and-half
And I said Absolutely! I got stout and ale and I even got pretzels
He said Yeah? We had two each. It was a wonderful day.
Chagall 2017
The edge of each business card
contained DNA.
Chagall 2017
When getting mind-fucked
is one obliged to come?
Chagall 2017
My Art of Drowning splayed pages-down to On Turning Ten
A cursive vee from damp and settling she coaxes back to book-form
Chagall 2017
The arc of my float,
over the village,
a shallow parabola,
steady, deliberate
Pan on a taut guide,
level with those in the loge.
No one flies like this these days,
not like this anymore;
jump, trust, merge into updraft,
simple flip-gravity, easier to float
if you close your eyes.
How I love ascension,
my body carved, massages the flight:
Victory winged at Samothrace.
I’m young and crazed,
a romantic in the gondola, a pied balloon,
throwing out ballast to rise!
At night, low altitude,
I cherish the sight, your fires,
you hovered in the round,
my vantage point just above
tops of pines that surround.
Your laughter draws me,
I lower the flame,
I settle down,
pilot to a spot
right about where you sit.
© Carlos Chagall, 2013
Earth’s mantle
The regolith upon which I stand
Whisperers
in the niche of meadows
Eternal rain
deliriously hydrous
Intracellular
Briskly flow my rivers
Thought is sediment
The banks of life
Still
I will
Craft castles
Chagall 2017
Trees. Gentlest giants.
I breathe for you.
Chagall 2017
Alphabet City 