this is a test
there is really
nothing
to say
if this were
an actual poem
we would tell you
how to feel
about it
or at least
express something
worthy of an
emotional response
(D. James)
this is a test
there is really
nothing
to say
if this were
an actual poem
we would tell you
how to feel
about it
or at least
express something
worthy of an
emotional response
(D. James)
my pen falls
from the table
into a dark shadow
kicking
to catch it
with the side
of my shoe
spinning
it skitters
into the light
much like my thoughts
on this deathly cold day
(D. James)
I remember
the past
as if it were
some one else’s
story
as if I
were some one
other than me
those days
and days
of years
the many nights
the horrible “mornings”
of the afternoon
washed clean away
by different thoughts
other actions
I remember a time
when I was
some one else
when I told
a different story
I remember as if
read in a novel
or seen in a film
I remember
so as not to forget
so as not to become
what I’ve been
what was left behind
(D. James)
to dance
like the bones
don’t ache
to run
with the speed
of a panther
to laugh
with the abandon
of a child
to work
and play
and love
as if
I cannot fail
to sleep
like the dead
and dream
as the mystics do
this is how I wish
to spend
the days and nights
before returning to dust
(D. James)
thinking thoughts on
trains in tunnels
that take us to
toiling tasks like tinker toys
trudging to their terminus
can we keep
clear of calamity and
concious of creation or
will we wile awhile then
whip ourselves or
take the time
to think thoughts on
trains
while wishing
we weren’t wending our
way to work
(D. James)
up all night
looking
for something
that doesn’t exist
something
I don’t want
to see in me
avoiding
myself
by looking
everywhere
other than here
trying to get
out of my head
when I should
be in bed
another late
night
another wasted
morning
couldn’t I get
the same result
in another way
or another result
in the same way
it’s all the same
in the end
(D. James)
so much
I don’t
understand
used to think
I knew everything
or could
at least
fake it
now
I don’t know
is often
my answer
but I’ll make something up
if it makes you feel better
(D. James)
phone calls
text messages
and no one
gets back
what to do
feeling disconnected
feeling like no one’s
out there
feeling like no one
wants me
it’s only a thought
they’re all just busy
right now
in an hour
everyone
will call back
at once
and I’ll have
3 voice mails
and 5 text
messages
while trying
to get through
to my sister
in Tucson
to say
I love you
(D. James)
don’t know what
to do
with these feelings
when the woman
you love says
it doesn’t mean anything
like your love
doesn’t matter
like you
don’t
matter
it isn’t what she means
it’s just how it sounds
to you
in the moment
as she says goodbye
for the last time
what do you do
knowing she’s already
calling another man
lover
do you give in
to the rage
let it consume you
or can you find a way
to let it all go
as if it really
doesn’t matter
(D. James)
I’m so good
at making it all
about me
that even when
you think you’re
talking about you
it’s still about me
do you do that too
or is it just me?
(D. James)
summon the gods
even though you know
they cannot save you
let them rain down pain
like warriors at the front
bring the slaughter
leave nothing
in your wake
full of force
shallow power
that cannot last
this is what
you can do
with words
(D. James)
bird
on a wire
comes with
the morning
light
chirps
then flits
away
sign of
a good
day
(D. James)
there is something
and yet … and yet
a look
in the eye
something
or something
I made up
how
do you know
ten thousand
subtle seconds
and you only have
a moment to act
am I
the only one
who notices this
(D. James)
what do you
say
when it doesn’t
go your way
you fight
to make
a pointless
point
then you
feel bad
about
the things
you said
finally
you let it go
or
you let it
destroy you
the choice
is yours
(D. James)
then I said
“yes”
and it all
began
for me
and she,
she couldn’t
see
at first
what it meant
then she said
“yes”
and it all
began
for us
(D. James)
alone
in a room
darkness
of your soul
moment
of madness
you rage
and cry out
“what does
it all mean?”
like a wave
it crashes
over you
washes
everything
away
then subsides
you are left
standing
with nothing
and now
you can begin
(D. James)
Doing
what needs
doing
being
right where
you are
Nothing broken
nothing to fix
even when
the world
seemingly tells
you so
Just remember
that everything
everything
changes
(D. James)
you head north
I follow
then east
and I follow
to the west
then south
north again
and I follow
your shifts
of whim
until
my bearings
are lost
and I am
swallowed
in a sea
of emotion
you go on
leaving behind this
reckless wreckage
now
there is
nowhere
to go
but
down
(D. James)
what can we
give
on this day
that can truly
be called a gift
not something
bought
or even made
but something
of ourselves
to look someone
in the eye
and let them
know
they are loved
and appreciated
to leave
them
feeling
as if you know
exactly who they are
not who you
think they are
or need them
to be
but truly
who they are
(D. James)
what I write
when no
other thoughts
come
an image, idea
theft
desire
hope
dreams
sorrows
This is what
I write
when nothing else
will come
(D. James)
Filled
with fear
not knowing
what the future
holds
worried
I can’t
won’t
make it
That somehow
after all this
time
I’ve finally come
to the end
no more
tricks
up my
sleeve
time to pay
the piper
feeling terribly
inadequate
needing to
reinvent
rethink
shift
(D. James)
Love you
like no other
somehow it
isn’t enough
always seems
another obstacle
an endless
row of hurdles
and though
it feels as if
this horse
can’t jump
I must
I must
For no
other reason
than love
(D. James)
I fret
am filled
with fear
as if
poured
into me
an endless pitcher
overflowing
into my mouth
filling me from
toes to teeth
I choke
cannot breathe
Am I doing
the right thing
should I have done
this or that
before or after
with her or him or it
should I not have
will there be enough
money
time
love
friendship
sex
What will become
of me
in time
before I turn
to dust
(D. James)
The rain falls
like anger
fierce thunder
barks
the air
thick and wet
Black streets
reflect lamplight
hard sound
of water falling
from a long way up
Tortured soul
of weather
wrestling
with the city
tonight
as if the sky
hurt and afraid
needs to be heard
wants its wrath
to be known
exerting some
momentary sense of control
only to lose
against the granite
and steel
blacktop and brick
The hard city
that falters in flood
but never ever
gives in
never loses
the war
(D. James)
Tossing
attitude
throwing words
like punches
not caring
where they land
Uncertain
where this is
coming from
or where
it’s going
only that
I’m following
blindly
(D. James)
Thinking
of giving up
packing it in
leaving
Always looking
for support
someone to prop me up
or just lean me
against a wall
Feeling like
it’s never
gonna be enough
Swimming
in a pool
of self-pity
not wanting
to take
responsibility
wondering how
everyone else
seems to do it
so why
can’t I
(D. James)
When the night
is over
and the final
cigarette
has been smoked
what will
the last poet
say
After all
the evoked emotion
failed relationships
dead boyfriends
abortions
abusive parents
drugs and alcohol
laughter
and pain
have been spilled
out
in some cases
artfully vomited
what could
this last poet
have to say
How to summarize
this night
these words
life sentences
bad grammar
poetic license
driven to excess
How to follow
the girl who told
of losing all her hair
the guy who
crashed his car
the gay biker
who longs
to be dominated
by a she-wolf
of the SS
the boy
who lost
his virginity
so late
the girl
who lost hers
so early
the words
of so many
who want change
yet stay
right where they are
What can this last
motherfucker
have to say
that can top the
triumphs
tragedies
surprises
sorrows
What will
the last poet
leave us with
as we file
out of this
basement grotto
into the light
of dawn
Do we expect
too much
as he steps to the microphone
the crowd
too drunk
to hush
even the white
of the spot light
seems a bit dingy
as he steps into it’s shaft
The last poet
will speak the
last poem
and we will leave
to sleep it off
Whatever he says
will be the final word
so our expectations
are far too high
The last poet
poor fucker
has nowhere to go
but down
unless he’s more genius
than genius itself
more brilliant
than all of us
The last poet
clears his throat
touches his lips
to the mic
the wait
has us spellbound
and half-hopeful
Even so
when we wake
in the afternoon
hungover and
full of piss
will we remember
any of this
(D. James)
just because
you want her
doesn’t mean
she feels
the same
or even notices
you’re alive
(D. James)
like a dog
that won’t come
a bird
that refuses
to sing
or a cat
that won’t hunt
what if
I just sat here
all damn day
listening to Nina
the sound
of all that pain
washing over me
like rain
(D. James)
she notices
the men who
turn their heads
just in time
the ones who look
but don’t want
to be obvious
trying to be
cool
but she
catches them
anyway
often sees
heads moving
to the left
or right
as if
they were
only observing
the room
the one
they’ve been
sitting in
for hours now
funny
how that
keeps happening
(D. James)
where are
the hula girls
and the umbrella drinks
the smoke-filled
club
with the little
tables
and white linen
it already happened
born too late
the party moved on
damn I hate that
(D. James)
waiting
for the keys
to speak
why don’t they
type something
must I do
everything
around here
I thought
this writing thing
would be easier
people talk about
poems that write
themselves
where can I
get me
one of those
they promised
life would be
more fun
on a Mac
but I still
have to do
all the damn thinking
(D. James)
autumn …
things begin
to die
the start
before the start
of next spring
the end
of this
the beginning
of that
life
is
a
circle
a cycle,
there are
no straight lines
which may be why
it feels as if
we’ve been here before
(D. James)
We said
“you don’t
understand”
to each other
until we didn’t
then we weren’t
anymore
(D. James)
whatever I take
to bed
I wake up with
whatever is in
my head
I deal with
whatever it is
I’ve said
I have to
live with
and whatever happens
after I’m dead
I will have to
end with
(D. James)
And I will
rip up the night
raise hell
for the hell of it
ride until the
road rolls up
behind me
until my tires
burn off the rims
and the sun
comes up to
stop me
dead
in my tracks
(D. James)
why
is the word
try
in poetry
is it because
it is
at times
a trying task
or because
we try
and try again
to write
a good one
perhaps
you should try
and let me know
what you find
(D. James)
we retreat
to opposing
corners
lick our
wounds
meet again
somewhere
in the middle
fight it out
all over again
both of us
defensive
trying to be
right
both of us
losing
looking
for a way
out
(D. James)
this night passes
through me
like a black
knife
no way
around it
I must
stay up
’til dawn
breaks me
only then
will I fall
to sleep
(D. James)
I hold tight
the reigns
and like Atlas
with the world
on his shoulders
I struggle
and raise hell
above my head
to find my
flat blackened soul
laid bare
would if I could
pick it up
but I’ve not
a hand to spare
(D. James)
when we were young
we talked, naively
about being older
because that’s
all we wanted
when we were older
we talked, longingly
about being young
because that’s
all we wanted
when we’re
dead
will we talk, knowingly
about being alive?
or will we finally
be content
with where we are?
(D. James)
to write something
of import
just once
a line
truer
than the truth
that makes
someone
think twice
pierces
their heart
it may be
in me yet
have to keep
searching
keep writing
to find that phrase
that stops the world
from spinning
if only for a moment
(D. James)
a mess here
a mess there
little piles
of my life
laid out
on the floor
and I wonder
sometimes
what is it
all for?
(D. James)
spent the night
on the surface
of sleep
worrying about
my own
self interest
come the morning
hungry, ornery
horny, and angry
there was
nothing to do
but fight
maybe I’m not
cut out
for this
relationship thing
(D. James)
come to me now
in the dead
of night
so that I might
hold you tight
come to me now
let me whisper
in your ear
and feel you near
knowing no fear
come to me now
so I can touch
your skin
let me drink
you in like raw gin
make me believe
in a god
and heaven
and all the angels
who sing
crush me
with your look
silence me
in a kiss
hold me
until the sun rises
and tomorrow comes
like sweet pain
(D. James)
sat up
half the night
with unhappy thoughts
come morning
they were still there
in a chair
by the bed
pulled them on
with my jeans
wore them
all damn day
till they
wore me out
sat up
half the night
with unhappy thoughts
determined that
in the morning
they’d be gone
moved the chair
into the kitchen
just in case
(D. James)
Stayed online
all night long
Wrote down a few
words
But can’t tell me
a damn thing
Cause I
know it all
and nothing
nothing
nothing
at the same
time
(D. James)
what if
what is
isn’t
what if
what’s there
isn’t
what if
what you see
isn’t there
what if
you weren’t
reading this
would it still
exist
(D. James)
In a struggle
of the mind
wanting to make
it out to be more
than it is
just a bunch
of thought
none of it
true
or all that
powerful
except when
I make it so
and so often
I do
more thought
doesn’t solve
anything
only action
gets me
out of my head
and into
the world
(D. James)
having thoughts
about thoughts
that I thought up
last night
thoughts I’ve thought
a long time
new thoughts think
the old ones should
make room
but the old thoughts
think they know best
then there’s the thought
that all this thinking
isn’t getting us anywhere
I don’t even know
what to think
about that
(D. James)
I don’t say
what’s on
my mind
When
it’s all
shit
So keep
my mouth
shut
Because
always
everyone
wants to help
And sometimes
I just need to be
where I’m at
Got it?
(D, James)
Nothing is permanent
not even that statement
Nothing lasts
all is temporal
We are nothing today
that we were yesterday
It only seems that way
because it’s all we have
to look forward from
(D. James)
high heeled shoes
short black skirt
smooth legs
drive the herky-jerky
old men crazy
scratching and blinking
shaking their balding heads
remembering a time they had
wishing they weren’t
who they are
for one more day
before she walks
away
leaving them with
the faintest scent
of perfume
a memory
of a memory
lingers
(D. James)
how many things
don’t I know?
of all the things
in the wide world
which I know
a fraction of a fraction
of a percent
how many things
do you know?
all thoughts
all languages
from the beginning
how we think
we know
anything at all
is beyond me
(D. James)
what comes between us
when we’re apart?
how can I let you in
from an arm’s length away?
averted glances
thwarted hopes
life’s just too risky
when I take every little thing
to mean something about me
(D. James)
If the rain falls up
from the street
does it mean
the world is
upside down?
If things work out
in my favor today
does it mean
tomorrow they won’t?
Is it really
how I look at it
or simply how it is?
would I even know
the difference?
(D. James)
the music presses down
from above
louder and louder
until there’s nothing but noise
no thought or word
just the banging
of the drum
in my head
maybe it’s time
to leave
(D. James)
dirty white t-shirt
watching out
the monday morning
window
the rain reigns
comes down
as if trying
to snuff out
the fires of hell
damp chill
numbing
chapped digits
waiting for something
like the sun to appear
let us know
the world
will be alright
(D. James)
billy blew
his brains out
and no one noticed
billy blew
his brains out
and no one cared
billy blew
his brains out
and you ask
who the hell
is billy anyway?
well, what if
billy
were you
(D. James)
what to do
today
when I realize
my life
is one day
shorter
than yesterday
and tomorrow
is shorter still
best be grateful
for all the tomorrows
I can
while living
like there isn’t
another one coming
(D. James)
tattooed girls
drunken boys
and cigarette smoke
everywhere
warm nights
with pimps
and hookers
working the streets
this was
the way it was
before cell phones
atm’s and the internet
when you got
on the subway
with a token
and a phone call
cost a dime
nothing wrong
with how it is now
it’s just nice to think back
now and again
to a simpler time
(D. James)
moments
of clarity
like clean glass
seems the more
I let go
of what I think
I know
the clearer
it all becomes
(D. James)
it wells up
into your heart
dies between there
and your throat
that longing
that passion
to live
to feel
moved
open
raw
keys
black and white
tears
clear as rain
play it again
but never tell
what it means
never put words
to beauty so soft
and lovely
(D. James)
My shadow
tall as trees
in the late afternoon light
my mind
short on thought
as another day ends
(D. James)
I want my life
to be like running water
flowing easily
down through
the cracks
and coming to rest
in a great natural pool
where the sun will shine
evaporating me up to the sky
becoming ominous clouds
then fall like rain
to begin again
(D. James)
raging sky
large distant clouds
like mountains
across the blue-green ocean
there’s that part
of the late afternoon
when we wish the day
would stop
take notice of itself
before descending
into another chilly night
(D. James)
Up late
listening
to Hindi singers
Images of trains
and the rains
Send me
to sleep
with words
I do not understand
but the feeling
is there
(D. James)
Thoughts
without discernible
patterns
scattered across
my mind
It’s a good thing
I don’t drive
based on my
feelings
(D. James)
spitting venom
out of fear
attacking
like a cornered
dog
to a threat
that is not there
unable
unwilling
to see any other
option
words meant
to cut
to hurt
to bleed you
all so you
won’t go away
or
to make you prove
what you say
(D. James)
The sunlight blinds
but you look anyway
reflecting
off the tabletops
creating an illusion
the gentlest
of winter afternoons
the violent dying light
pierces your eye
as a reminder
of summer
yet no matter
how hard you stare
you cannot make
the season change
nor the sun
shine less
(D. James)
It is said
only the fallen
know the true depths
could you be
one of the rare ones
so often imagined?
Longer than any river
the emotional road we travel
More torturous
than your beauty
this lustful addiction
that can be
briefly assuaged
but never ever cured
And where
have the gods
that made you gone?
Is it true
you destroyed them
so there would be no equal?
I am a dark knight
sent on a failed errand
for a now dead king
riding through endless nights
searching for some
unexplainable something
that exists for a moment
then disappears
leaving only memories
and the faint tint
of lipstick on my glove
I need something beautiful
to destroy me
someone intelligent enough
to match me
I thought I heard you calling
(D. James)
Bourbon and cigarettes
late-night hookers
down dark alleys
What doesn’t kill me
costs more than
just money
Turning fantasy into reality
shaking with adrenaline
getting kicks from anticipation
feeling more powerful
than any man should
Someday
I’ll get off
this merry-go-round
but I can’t seem to find
“someday” on the calendar
Maybe it falls on
February 30th
two-thousand-and-never
(D. James)
(for Ian A.)
What if the old man
isn’t wandering or lonely
What if he has
all the answers
and knows it’s pointless
to say anything
Now who do you
feel sorry for?
(D. James)
See the tall girl
standing on the corner
a cell phone to her ear
Oblivious to the traffic
rushing by
a boy
talking in her ear
He tells her
“I love you”
but she doesn’t
believe it
She turns west
and hears him say
he can’t live without her
She turns east
and he says
please don’t leave
When she looks down
at the ground
is that south?
Up at the sky
north?
He keeps talking
pleading
wheedling
whining
but she stopped listening
long ago
Behind dark sunglasses
she quints at the bright sunlight
of a Los Angeles afternoon
It’s after she throws the phone
as it skips along the hot tar
and is run over a few times
she realizes
her mistake all along
has been looking for love
from without instead of
from within
(D. James)
The choices
we make
define our lives
Saying this
but doing that
Wanting one thing
then following another
Looking for some truth
beyond ourselves
when all the time
it’s right where
we left it
In our wallet
next to the photograph
of the one we love
(D. James)
The writer
that doesn’t write
The poet
that doesn’t poe
The savior
that doesn’t save
On a road
that goes nowhere
leads to nothing
and ends when it’s over
[queue music]
(D. James)
If I did
as I was told
twist and shout
rattle and hum
would it be annoying
or would you come
along
If I did
as I was told
there’d be
no poetry
at least not
from me
If I did
as I was told
I might remember
to care
that everyone
has an opinion
and some are quick
to share
If I did
as I was told
If only I ever
did as I was told
(D. James)
how many hotel rooms
must you walk through
on lonely nights
with unknown
painted faces
before you see yourself
for who you are
realize what you’re doing
won’t solve a thing
how many lies
can you tell
before even you
stop believing
how hard
do you want
to make this life
before you let go
and begin to live
how many
sleepless hours
how many
unanswered phone calls
how many
broken promises
how many
how many
how many
before you close your eyes
and finally call it a night?
(D. James)
there are
two kinds
of drivel
a poet
writes
the kind
that gets
published
and the kind
that doesn’t
(D. James)
crumbling
like life
littering
the sheets
making sleep
scratchy and uncomfortable
mother was right -
best to leave them
out altogether
(D. James)
traded as fact
they lurk
in broad daylight
often dispelled
by opposing
falsehoods
nothing more
than something
someone was once
ridiculed for believing
then repeated
repeated
repeated
so much
no one asks
where it came from
we just live
like it’s the truth
(D. James)
rain and coffee
waiting for the sun
in my mind
driving through town
on a warm day
smoking one last cigarette
hoping the clouds away
being here now
letting it wash over me
(D. James)
Without doubt
there are questions
without answers
But are there any answers
without questions?
(D. James)
The truth is …
God has no religion
(D. James)
I feel like
the old dog
who can no longer
catch the ball on a bounce
but chases it anyway
(D. James)
yellow toothed dog
stares through
blood-shot eyes
in my nightmare
drooling
I know he
wants me
for his last meal
I’ve run from him
for hours now
maybe even days
in the end
he’ll have his way
because that dog
keeps me honest
because that dog
is me
his hot breath
rank with death
the only escape
is to wake
but either I can’t
or I already have
I’ll know in a minute
as he approaches
and I am too weak
to move
One way or the other
it ends here
(D. James)
What is the sound
of nothing falling
in the city?
(D. James)
The half-moon laughs
as we tear up the road
screaming at the night
With nothing but chrome
and black gloss
we ride ’til dawn
Our piece of heaven
forged in hell
hanging with the
fallen angels
And when the sun rises
we’ll put another night
to rest
(D. James)
Their feet shake the ground
and the teeth in our skulls
Their gigantic arms
send dried leaves
whirling around us
Their laughter
booms enigmatic
like deep thunder
Who are they?
Who were they?
Nobody knows
and nobody
really cares
because the first
buds are blooming
and birds are a-singing
and the overweight champions
just become mountains
on the horizon line
very blue
very far away
EL SEBBO
A government ruled
by well-meaning bourgeois
is still a government
and it is still
ruled
by
bourgeois
EL SEBBO
What I remember
are images
The words are gone
and live a life of their own
They never call me nor write
but the images
are still with me
and sometimes
I do wish
they would pay rent
EL SEBBO
Eros is sore
EL SEBBO
Delicate
isn’t my name
and yet I am moved
by the imbecile
gently led by his father
down the street
while screaming songs
at the top of his head
I am moved
by a white cloud
standing still
over the city
like a gentle threat
I am moved
by your breath
gently lifting the sheets
deep in the night
when I can’t sleep
Yes delicate things
move me deeply
and confirm
the rage hidden
at the core of my words
The rage of impotence,
hope and rebellion
- but not despair
Despair, you see,
is too delicate
for me
EL SEBBO
but we sure wish there was
EL SEBBO
I shot
the box
of Rice Krispies
stabbed the
Fruit Loops
and strangled
with bare hands
the Raisin Bran
Now
there’s nothing left
for tomorrow’s breakfast
(D. James)
My ear is shot
Haven’t slept in two days
and here I am writing
this miserable poem
Is it friendship pushing me
or just poetry’s bad junk
shaking me up and down
and never letting me be?
EL SEBBO
no candles
but fireworks
no explosions
but roman candles
we have written pomes
for one good year now
we are very tired
but our mouths are still
full of spit, tongue, stones
and words
no firecrackers
but live ammo
no funeral pyres
but a feather
of the Phoenix
EL SEBBO
The white veil of morning
creeps around the house
The birds are black notes
and their song hang frozen
in mid-air
We drink coffee in the kitchen
and I want to tell you something
but your words erase mine
and I forget what I wanted to say
and there is no way you can help me
and we laugh it off and another mouth
replaces my mouth with different words
forming behind the seemingly same teeth
although they are actually a few seconds
older
EL SEBBO
My children play
with wooden blocks
red blue yellow
and green
They build towers
and smash them
laughing
like typical
humans
A reassuring thought
somehow
The blocks
await in the sunlight
waiting to be
piled up
and thrown down again
like typical
humans
Not a reassuring thought
somehow
EL SEBBO
Went to a party last Saturday
and all evening I wondered
if my fly was open because
the zipper was broken or because
I was too stoned to zip it up
Time to quit?
Hell no
EL SEBBO
Free
is a
four
letter
word
EL SEBBO
The blue of the sky
crashes through my open window
and a few birds sing
to welcome the first rays
of the sun
Everything is still
except for the millions
of radio waves
spinning around us
like in invisible killer bees
and I say
to the wall
my chair my desk
the open window
the blue sky
the birds and their songs
“Burn all flags”
as flags frame you
in what you are not
and never will be
- a model citizen
a model father
a model nation
a model nature
a model bird
a model sky
a model model
Yes
burn all flags
especially
the white one
EL SEBBO
If I move
two inches
to the left
does reality
remain the same?
EL SEBBO
Reality is not what
you make of it
Reality is what
you don’t want it to be
EL SEBBO
The sun rose today
but I missed it
my eyes still blinded
by night and punctuated by stars
The sun rose today
and I didn’t
preferring to ignore
the glorious colors
to the monochrome black
The sun rose today
and I didn’t care
as I embraced
a lovely shadow
slightly smelling
of cinnamon
EL SEBBO
A clap of thunder
in a clear blue sky
or the strange reflection
of something not quite there
are our daily mysteries
so sit down
have a coffee
read the paper
and finally
accept yourself
as the ultimate mystery
goddammit
EL SEBBO
Hanging upside down
I finally see the world
how it really is
EL SEBBO
Hermosa corona
shining high above the clouds
just out of reach of my wanting fingers
Hermosa corona
beautiful face wrapped
in silk and gold
you could be a vision
but your materiality
drags me down
Hermosa corona
if only you could
be a poem
a word an image
and disappear
as soon as
you were pronounced
Hermosa corona
I wish I could could
hold you in my hands
but they are tied
behind my back
and praying won’t help
Hermosa corona
your indifference
is truth
your glitter
wisdom
and your power
death
Hermosa corona
I run in circles
after myself
please let me
have you
please
please
EL SEBBO CORONADO
The re is no mystery
in an open hand
but as we walk
our teeth grow back
into our gums
and our bones
shatter like ice
We try to laugh it off
but a howling wind
comes out of our lungs
and specks of our blood
decorate the sky’s blue cupola
There is no mystery
in an open hand
but the closed fist
hanging over our heads
is following us
like the shadow of something
we knew or thought we knew
EL SEBBO
Q: Why can we always feel when something bad is going to happen but never something good?
A: Because there are more bad things than good things happening to us.
Q: Why are there more bad things than good things happening to us?
A: Because we are cursed.
Q: Why are we cursed?
A: Because we are free.
Q: Is freedom a good thing or a bad thing?
A: It is a very good thing. That’s why we can’t feel anything.
EL SEBBO.
Drink
as much as you can
Speak
as much as you can
and in the outer limits
of your words
will you finally
be yourself
EL SEBBO
This is another place
my friend
and we are becoming meat
The ships have sailed
and the planes have left
their esoteric signs
of the sky’s blue wall
We didn’t ask to come
and no one invited us
but we are here
and it’s definitely not there
This is another place
my friend
and we are becoming meat
Some of us are hungry
and some of us are sad
I am lucky to be loved
You are lucky to be blind
The poker tables are full
and smoking is allowed
This is another place
my friend
and we are becoming meat
Don’t thank me for our journey
It wasn’t the one that planned
There is a toast stuck in the toaster
and the flames are raging high
You left your coffee untouched
and outside the sun is nodding
Everything is familiar
yet none of it is mine
This is another place
my friend
and we are becoming meat
I guess we could say goodbye
or greet each other in tears
there are many wars out there
their fumes obscuring our lungs
I guess I should say I’m sorry
but I have yet to learn these words
This is another place
my friend
and we are becoming meat
EL SEBBO
Like love
strength
is a potentiality
the coiled steel spring
the flexed muscle
the fluttering of an eyelash
a laughter
gas in the tank
like love
strength
is
somewhere
between
you
and yourself
a shadow
as faithful
as shadows
can be
EL SEBBO
Those
who fear loneliness
have never been
alone
EL SEBBO
‘s like quicksilver rolling in the palm of your hand
a strong card with many colors
a woman who can stare you down
a poem you thought long forgotten
‘s like a spot of darkness in the middle of light
a sword in a merciful hand
a shameless kiss on the mouth
something you miss but you don’t know why
something you miss but you don’t know why
EL SEBBO
Words
are
yours
to
keep
EL SEBBO
reality is still the hardest drug
EL SEBBO
Yeah!
What happened?
EL SEBBO STRANGLERO
Fuck work
fuck school
fuck power
fuck god
fuck you
fuck me
fuck it
let’s dance
EL SEBBO
Too much to drink last night
Trying to collect thoughts
and finally letting them
collect themselves
The stars indicate no direction
and the roadsigns are all
rusty and torn
and I don’t even know
if I’m anywhere on the map
crumpled in the back pocket
of your jeans
EL SEBBO
Poetry is a mind-altering drug
Do not hesitate to overdose
EL SEBBO
But I have a job
I am a poet
It’s a very important job
EL SEBBO
A cold morning
I am on the first floor
looking outside
The golden light of the sun
warms absolutely nothing
Beauty at its best
Days go by like birthday candles
but the cake never goes stale
a cheap metaphor for happiness
I guess but words and images
do betray us sometimes
and maybe, maybe
that’s why we love them
EL SEBBO
Hell
is being stuck
in a bar
with a bad singer
singing good poetry
EL SEBBO
RnR
El Sebbo
I measured myself today
EL SEBBO
The writer speaks
The yellow woman asks questions
nobody understands
The writer answers politely
The yellow woman smiles
Outside words are pressing
their faces to the window
wondering
EL SEBBO
To DJ Eldon
This is the place where
old cowboys meet
with torn leather boots
and a toothless mouth
full of tobacco
Backs hurt
Whiskey burns
Memories flare up
A sign flaps in the wind
but you can’t read it
as it stands on the opposite
side of yer heart
EL SEBBO
Dust of a ghost town
on my boots
Cold wind
blows
Old buildings groan
with defiance
Dust of a ghost town
in my mouth
as I leave this
cold, dead place
behind
(D. James)
I live in that
house that you can’t see
and you live in that
house that you can’t see
EL SEBBO
It was while
we were listening
to the Residents
that she realized
she wasn’t
in love
with me
anymore
EL SEBBO
Today I told myself
to stop fucking around
but I told myself
I could fuck around
as much I as wanted too
because after all
it is always myself
who has the final
word
EL SEBBO