Tiny spider smiling, tucked-in-a-roll of garden bags,
knowing she’s made it inside.
Chagall 2017
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With love and gratitude to Amaya Engleking, Gospel Isosceles, for this amazing work. —CC
Be sure to visit Carlos’ Alphabet City and explore the poet’s clever wordplay, original music, and poignant thoughts on love, loss, and humanity.
(The above picture is not a portrait of Mr. Chagall but another man with radically kind eyes. The quote is from the poet’s ‘Requiem Revisited.’)
She said she was finally settling on a design for facial hair that would appeal to all her constituents.
"There's a shortage of bread-bags, especially this time of year," she fretted.
"With so many ways to bake and so many means to package, how would you know?" I asked.
Chagall 2017
Not sure where I am, looking up. Definitely could be ceiling
but I’m fairly certain it’s sky.
Chagall 2017
It’s dark on the roof of the apartment,
flat, hot tar, I do like that smell, sticky underfoot,
the flutter of pigeons in the coops across,
white light triangles, boat sails there on the Hudson,
cruising steady, big hammocks of linen and hemp,
billow in warm winds, a steady stream of cars,
into Manhattan, uptown and out, along the Westside Highway,
an ice cream truck plays a ditty on Calliope, a jack in the box,
wound up and cranked, plays over again, on the street below,
I gaze out over the edge, watch the children run,
money from moms gripped tight in hand, for the treasure,
Tuesday night, somewhere in time, earth, Alphabet City,
a hundred degrees and rising.
Met game on in a room below, announcer shouting in Spanish,
sounds like a walk-off homer; old vinyl of Eddie Palmieri,
live from the University of Puerto Rico, spills into the…
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He asked if he could borrow the Les Paul, the L5, and the L48, and I said Yes but he knew that if anything were to happen to them that he and anyone else known to be in the house on that day would collectively share accountability and would suffer severe consequences administered by a group of like-thinking and united guitarists who are among the people I hang with.
Love, Chagall 2017
Tiny rounds of sliced baguette laid length-wise in the toaster spring-up
once toasted to stand vertically on the same long axis – every time.
Chagall 2017
My dear boy – he’d say – I did not go to college like you.
Grandpa – I’d tell him – Neither did I. I’m only ten.
Chagall 2017
I keep one room really toasty, another frigid-cold
alive most of my life somewhere in-between
With Love, Chagall 2017
Anybody out there know somebody who takes the twisty on the bread-bag
way too seriously?
Chagall 2017
Alphabet City 