Still early, it’s only three thirty
I’ve got a few more hours to go
I savor remaining moments
each time they come
Younger I’d pack
a life into each
With a will so great
I could make that happen
Compress
spans of life
A run-on string
at the tail-end
I run my palm
over a small rise
on an otherwise
perfect face
When the time comes
she will lift my last finger from the grip
and I will slip from the jamb
© Chagall 2013
We’re not through here
let’s take that again
who knew what he was saying
to her, the credits and theme
they stepped all over it
I need a volunteer
to let Death know
that maybe next time
sooner rather than later . . .
Anyone?
© Chagall 2013
Rumor of my expansion
has been grossly
underplayed
Rimshot
But seriously . . .
You’ve been
a great Creation
Good night
and drive safely
© Chagall 2013
Here’s our sugar,
coffee and rice
We enjoy your teas,
so many lentils!
We’ll take
each what we need,
no more
and we’ll leave
the rest
At the end
of each day
under stars
and over fires
Under no pretense,
over strong beverage
and each our dead bodies
under Creation
We will open our hearts
to each other
of Earth
And we will arise
the better
© Chagall 2013
Spires in the glare of day
leave me dizzy on the battlement
a precarious place to be
Yet I’m stretched on her bed
under the slow drizzle
of cold lilac water from sponges
she keeps in a porcelain basin
Drop
by bracing
drop
And then
I fall
© Chagall 2013
I gaze at heaven
snowflakes gather on my eyes
where gods trace angels
© Chagall 2013
Nothing
Languid
for eons
Till a hum
from nowhere
Suddenly
everywhere is somewhere
The rest
is history
Welcome
to the now
© Chagall 2013
I poke through
the seam around the edge
I’m expelled
as a tear from a wink
I roll down the cheek
of beautiful existence
she licks the top of her lip
where I come to rest
if I do
I am
viscous
as mercury
silver against black
creation in stars atop night
I am happy to be day
if only she’d be twilight
My lives sprinkle from my palm
diamonds alight on jeweler’s silk
She chooses her favorite outcomes
set in tricolor braids of gold
If I’m diverted
as a tear
I will miss her lips
and instead disappear
in mid-air
© Chagall 2013
Originally blogged on July 19th, 2013. —Chagall
Things don’t fall
so much as the world rushes up
to meet them where they float
everything’s falling
so nothing moves
apparently
my heart drops
dips on a steep rise
when I see you these
skittish palpitations
slow loping
gravity hang-glides
free-fall
alighting gently
touchdown running
on the soles of my feet
so solid this ground
curves under me
perfectly bouncing
I’m buoyant
on ground sponge
baked in rain
still falling
on planets
big rocks
in mid-air
as a failed aerialist
I know the last fall’s hardest
to mistime
to lose heart
to miss the palm of the hand
outstretched in mid flight
people don’t fall
so much as the ground rushes up
to meet them
everyone’s falling
apparently
© Carlos Chagall, 2013
Odd, how nothing stirs
and there is no sound
just a gray day lost
in this maze of evergreen hedge
Who mows the grass
so tight here,
who keeps the branches
so trim?
I shout
a quick hey
but I know
there’s no one around
anywhere anymore
Yet the maze
is so well-kept . . .
© Chagall 2013
Alphabet City 