Say you’ll stay
Don’t leave
Hello, you there?
© Chagall 2014
Tag Archive: God
I stare out the window
at others staring wonder
where everyone has gone
The world awaits
children who run under her tapping foot
careful to time
the rise – now quickly . . . before the fall
If I wait too long
till closing time I get to rush
the darkened aisles just a step
ahead of failing lights
And for what,
a cartful of constellations?
© Chagall 2014
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
Starred skies lift hope’s eyes
heavenward, the path obscured
all in God’s hands now
© Chagall 2014
My neighbor’s light shines through the dense trees
between us, feathery pine branches diffract the beam
so holy such that there in the woods,
revealed now and then by the wind,
the star of Bethlehem floats,
a cross blurred gold casts frigid glow
across fields of ice, cold-blue
in the wane of yesterday’s moonlight.
© Chagall 2014
In the mirror
I watch
as I silently
say a prayer
with deep conviction
I search my face
for the eternal
either question
or answer
human
or spirit
life and death
or divine
as if
I listen
with my eyes
© Chagall 2013
First, begin with absolutely nothing,
no time, space, simply a predilection
for One thing, a spark to ignite the dark,
static, friction, a motivating force,
to kindle the frenzy, convert god-dream
to knowing, start a centillion factors
in motion, each without form or substance,
a shove from the unmoved mover: chaos.
Large circles of empty, bounded by nil,
teardrops of absence, without within none,
an aspiration, an absolute truth,
onto itself, without contingency.
Perhaps nothing never was, but always
something lingering there on the fine dust,
hovering there as a mist, in silence,
waiting, breathlessly, hopefully waiting.
© Carlos Chagall, 2013
I sometimes glimpse angels in windows,
not really sure
which side of the glass they’re on.
I jerk around quickly, a dart over shoulders,
to catch them behind me,
if they are reflection.
But sometimes they are simply there
on the other side,
sub-imposed under light from now.
Perhaps they’re not angels,
merely glimpses, or phantoms,
similarly spectral and drapery-like.
Though the haunted sometimes too are gilded,
tines are rarely mistaken for hand harps.
Flashes on the periphery,
a little frenzy of the optic nerve,
alerts me they’re there.
The more I stare,
the less I see,
the more I search,
yearn, panic . . .
Oh god, I thought I’d lost you,
or worse yet,
that you’d lost me.
The worst?
That we never whir at all.
In the winter, angels collapse feathers and halos,
lie perfectly still in cold white powder,
to hollow out shapes of snow-people.
Once in a while, it’s everyday things,
butterflies on lilacs, or passing birds,
glanced there in the panes.
And once it was just me,
looking back at the world.
© Carlos Chagall, 2013
pretending you’re pinero?
wearing designer guinea tees?
high cheek-boned maricón,
puckered, 22nd century james dean hologram,
pretending you’ve tasted a five-finger blade.
watch your step.
you’ll end up like kenny wild
did on that bench in 10th street park
by the band shell.
the less than grateful
dead hippies and hare krishnas
danced around his body while he drained out.
hare rama rama krishna this, pendejo.
Dysfunctional, dystopian fuckup,
mad max moron,
in your little leather ear muffs,
blade runner wannabe,
reigning like a runt,
at command central, U.S.A.
pretending you the real deal.
Oh shit, ROFL ROFL ROFL!!!
you ever meet Short Eyes
coming at you in the cage
at dannemora?
or tangled with dynamite brothers,
and run with ghost shadows?
juiced on opium and hair tonic
strained through a cheesecloth,
shaken not stirred,
beaten because they care for you.
right flaco?
you, pato, I’m talking to you.
here, gaze into the bowel.
sphincter, tu chupa?
© Chicheme, 2013
Eclipse. “… what they’ve done,”
holy sound; black veil. Alpha,
omega; all time
at one with all: one.
This time, this triduum: now
burst, cry into light.
Baskets filled with food,
sun-soaked altar rail. Sweet breads,
bitters, ascension.
© Carlos Chagall, 2013
Alphabet City 