Listening to the late-night
sounds of cars rubbering by
on the street below
The refrigerator hum
A helicopter thumps
the sky
(this is Los Angeles)
And somewhere
in the darkness
a bird sings
One of us has
to go to sleep
I guess it will
be me
(D. James)
Until now
I had always
ragarded darkness
as a friend
EL SEBBO
Trying for something
extraordinary
and if not that
then hoping to create
not just negate
Where does it
come from?
But more importantly
where the fuck has
it gone?
(D. James)
No inspiration today
Fuck make up
your own images
EL SEBBO
With no where
to be, but here
Nothing more
to say or do
Quiet falls like
night
And I am thankful
for the rest
(D. James)
The chrome sky shimmers lightly
attached to the cars’ antennas
I am walking home
my head full of radio waves
A clear-night ride
through the desert
The starlight
emitted an eon
ago reminds me
that our lives are
meaningless
by comparison
The half-moon hangs
so low on the black
horizon
it’s almost as if
I could drive there
and climb on
(D. James)
He will be back
in his uniform
soaking wet
under the great blue ball
of the noon sky
He will be back
with his rusted saber
tarnished epaulettes
and muddy boots
He will back
and his voice
will be like thunder
in the forest
and his smile
will be like sunshine
in the slums
He will be back
with a thousand lwas
standing invisible
on his large shoulders
their hands slightly ruffling
his curled black hair
He will be back
and in his eyes
this world
will be reflected
upside down
at last
Blue my mood
blue my sky
Black as
the night
My soul
wants more
(D. James)
We will be leaving soon
leaving Paris and its famous streets
famous people famous dogshits
Going on a new adventure
or so we like to think
Leaving to start a new life
if life can ever be new
although it sure can be folded
and carried in your pocket
like an old letter
that you might like
to reread
once in a while
EL SEBBO ON THE GO
Out my window
well past midnight
a bird sings
drunk perhaps
lost
Blind?
Or just whistling
at the moon
Summer’s smoggy fist
has grabbed the city
Everything seems gray
It’s impossible to breathe
and sweat turns faces
into masks
It feels exactly like life
EL SEBBO
Financial statements
and bills litter the desk
Far too many
things here trying
to kill creativity
I’d rather be high
and smoking with
the jazzmen out
back of some nightclub,
watching the sun
come up over the city
Instead of just
writing about it
(D. James)
Empty bottles
Smell of ashes
Wine stains on the floor
Bad breath and a headache
It was a good party
Gotta go
gotta run
Some days seems
like there ain’t
no time at all
go
go
go
Mark a day on my calendar
sometime next week
to stop
(D. James)
whenever you’re holding
your own bleeding heart
in your hands
picture yourself
as an Aztec king
shivering on top of a pyramid
as the evening sets in
waiting for rain
and the first colors
of spring
EL SEBBO
Lost in the ticking of a clock
the errant sounds of night
fallen deep
And she in the other room
oblivious
dreaming
You try to sit still
take a moment
to be yourself
You want to plunge
a hand into your chest
snatch the heart out
of it’s bone chamber
Because there’s got to be
another way to live
Something other than
commerce
Something less like cattle
and more like soul
But still you sit
in this late-night
kitchen
Listening to the clock
and other ticking
Blood dripping on the floor
your heart in your hand
a gapping hole in your chest
And you think …
“Great, so know what?”
(D. James)
Once again
they’ve won
and we’ve lost
No question there
and no question asked
No bagpipes to come to our rescue
and no way out the slaughter
They spoke well and we stuttered
They had muscles and we wore glasses
Our excuses are worthless
but our bruises are real
and the nurses are laughing at us
and throwing stones
It was a good fight though
and I don’t mind losing
that much
Oh well
I guess
that’s why
I’m an anarchist
EL SEBBO
Each morning I wake,
then remind myself
live the life I’ve chosen
Not the one
that’s been
handed me
(D. James)
Little after little
I am becoming invisible
like a reflection
on a windowpane
or a faint breeze
lifting innocent skirts
It’s not that horrible
It’s not that great either
It just is
Some people call it natural
Others call it unfair
I call it ageing
slowly becoming a ghost
among other ghosts
known or unknown
EL SEBBO
A different night
another city
A life that
was not mine
or not what
mine has become
Unsure if I’m lost
or if this searching is
part of the journey
(D. James)
We are the kings of nothing
but move like lightning
and leave on your eyes
a blinding scar
EL SEBBO
In the days
when we smoked
and drank
and it seemed nothing
could ever touch us
When we argued
about nothing
or nothing that
mattered
Those hazy late nights
that bled into early
morning
Head spinning,
the new day
already a waste
Oh, how I
miss those days
(D. James)
A man on fire
runs through
the woods
screaming
and laughing
and the flames
are so beautiful
under the stars
it makes me
want to laugh
and scream
with him
If I told you,
wrote it down
all of it,
every last fucking
thought
Every moment,
movement
It would burn
this page
Maybe …
Or you’d walk
away,
possibly run
Then what would I
have left?
(D. James)
a word is a word is a word
EL SEBBO
Black
like the bird
that sings outside my window
or
like my thoughts
on a cloudy morning
Black
as the night
without a moon and stars
or
the deepest depths
of the sea
Black
the color of all
or nothing
(D. James)
Went to a party last night
where someone played
old Cure songs
and a lot of good
eighties stuff
Made me think
of my youth
and of those
who crashed and burn
or simply faded away
without ever
saying goodbye
So I waved
to a couple of ghosts
I was the only one to see
and I danced danced danced
like a 43 years old fool
A page
A pen
A knife
A rant
A faint light
A cigarette
A thought
A flight
A building
A truck
A car
A polar ice cap
(D. James)
My king is made of metal
rusted and cranky he is
like an old car’s wheel
My king is made of cloth
wrinkled and smooth
like an old lady’s cheek
My king is made of bones
white and shiny
like power always is
