Comets, as our lives,
carry long trails.
But of course you can
tell the difference.
Can’t you?
Suns, as our hearts,
emanate intense heat.
You know you can
burn yourself on each.
Right?
The wind, like my mind,
carries the world aloft.
There is no difference;
we are one and the same.
© Chagall, 2013
Awe-struckers out there
we need you to strike
thunder experience a plus
jaw-droppers wanted
can you leave ’em agape?
please call the following number . . .
are you a spell-binder
able to bound
– a really awesome fucker?
low-riders
head-rattlers
high-rollers
toe-tappers
x hyphen y
we need you!
© Chagall, 2013
Write fast before
I lose it
avoid sidebar
and step-arounds
to the point
neither vertex nor acme
or apex
nor vertigo
could be anywhere
in-between
at the origin
one can decide
which way to go
to zero
© Chagall, 2013
On 10th between A and B
at the northern edge of the park
the buildings across
face southerly light
The expanse of Tompkins Square
cuts a vista there
unique for this part
of the city
In the movie
Love With The Proper Stranger
a sweet complicated love
between Steve McQueen
and Natalie Wood grows
each the stranger
The movie is filmed in ’63
before flower power
and the death
of the stars
a month after Camelot and Texas
but prior to Mekong
as a household word
and 10 years at least
before VCR
Natalie plays Angie
who works at Macy’s
with an apartment
there on 10th
In one scene
Rocky (Steve)
comes over
for dinner
The camera pans westward
from Avenue B
catches the southerly light just right
could be Paris for all we know
Captures that perfect day there
on the Lower East Side
before anyone knew
of Alphabet City
or of planes flying in
too low
People old then
are gone
even the young then
are gone
everyone alive then though
in award-winning
black and white
Angie and Rocky sup
Natalie looks fabulous in basic black
from the street outside
joyful screams come ringing in
children skating and punch-ball
in Tompkins Square Park
where everyday I would play
having grown up on 11th and A
maybe that’s me? – I would wonder
My Dad looks up
in bold relief
against the weave of patterned stone
that rims the park
He tightens the skate
and hands me the key
sits on the bench
with his paper
I soar over streets
in a rumble like surf
washes the sand away
Do a hard stop and turn
to face where I started
there’s Rocky walking away
Walks past my Dad
on the evergreen bench
and I pray it will stay this way
But it’s a world without Pause
or Rewind
and so the story flows
without any chance
of a second glance
only the promise
of a future showing
© Chagall, 2013
I run downhill
faster than I ever have
amazed not to fall
in the darkness
into the glen
breathing so heavy
that I feel
my heart and head
will explode
my lungs fill
with the living smell
of moss, cold winds,
and promise
alone, dizzy
so easy to follow
overhead orbits
since I’m spinning
concentric myself
For a moment
it’s plain
precisely life
no doubt about
the origin or the outcome
anyone can see that
everyone has
caught the glimpse
the bug
the drift
the gist
up in the landslide
until it stops
vague and dead
with nothing but doubt
of the many things
that no one gets
or has missed
like planes, the point
and you
Here in the field
I’m the center of all creation
through me light must pass
on its ride to the other side
© Chagall, 2013
Catch a falling star
stow it in that special creel
the one you have to keep
your celestial things
careful now
they burn
utmost care
wouldn’t hurt
to preserve
the finer points
of fallen bodies
drops of water
from a magic wand
release holy
star-steam
the vapors soothe
deep breaths
bring the heavens inside
change you
cause you to rise
and swell
magnificent
so that those around
will make a wish on you
if you’re the first
they see tonight
Someday you’ll fall
burn the lights
descend in graceful arc
it’s the fate we suffer
us celestial things
© Chagall, 2013
He asked the poet
What’s really going on here?
To which she replied
You’ve got it all backwards dear
it’s about what’s about
to come off
© Chagall, 2013
Remember today
life’s stark cold fields feel so hard
mind you now don’t fall
© Chagall, 2013
I’m addicted
to office supplies
paper
clean surface
the promise
of untapped prose
lines unwritten
in time
preferably
unlined
folders
crisp and empty
delicious slots
for array
clips
every shape and size
to bind and hold fast
the things that we love
number 9
mechanical pencils
bulbous tubular lead
to impart to the world
all that goes on
in the mind
© Chagall, 2013
I know that I’m someone
I’d like to know
I’m sure we’d get along
after all we’ve
much in common
loll about calm
commiserate
offer a shoulder
to cry on
cautious about
cricks in the neck.
together we toast
one glass raised
forgo fine rings
of crystal on crystal.
Angry
beside ourselves
twice removed
giving each other
the once over
partners together
a dollar parlay
on the Daily Double
end up winners
celebrate two to a bed
on a one night stand
with uni-dimensional two timers
who have a special tonight
one in the hand
and two in the bush
once upon a time
two princes were born
raised by twin mothers
each with a one-track mind
I would hug me hard
if we were friends
I would never
let me go
© Chagall, 2013
Alphabet City 