How subtle are these symbols, to clinch or to clench,
both embrace, one the certainty of winning, the other
holds tight to imminent loss, to quench, bring cooling
liquid, healing balm, through tight canals to affliction,
immersion in ice, or steam, infinite horizons of water,
too quiet, to hush someone lovingly with finger upon lips
shushing air.
© Chagall ∞
Thinking of writing a screenplay for a latina
biker-type detective, call it and the character
Blue Agave –
Thoughts?
© Chagall ∞
I have a number of wonderful binders –
a half-page green
marble com-
position, wide-rule;
a handmade leather
sketchbook unlined
from High Peak Craft, Tucson, Arizona, complete
with a leather loop to tie around
a post, to tassel shut;
a traditional 5-
subject $2.59
college-rule
with pocketed dividers,
perforated pages
– to name a few, in which I collect,
scribe and pray.
I occasionally doodle en obscura,
white space
I cordon off, masterful strokes,
black felt-tip markings, marginalia
that I intend to evolve someday.
Snippets, idea-ettes,
need water, vigorous nurturing
to imbue them with form.
Each one on their own not much,
but collectively a definitive assortment
of their own reckoning.
The words concise, intentionally imprecise,
neatly contained in inches, blocks sized
two by two, or four by four,
like so many
synapse
whistling
a happy tune
along
the
dusty
trail.
© Carlos Chagall, 2013
