Alcohol
is poetry’s black hole
Things get sucked in
deformed until they disappear
leaving only the outline
of their shadow
in the painful
poetic skies

EL SEBBO

Another beautiful sky
through the kitchen window
I wonder what’s so special
about them nordic skies
Inspiration maybe

EL SEBBO

the main difference
between men and women is sex
luck exists
words have a different meaning

EL SEBBO

I remember that
in the summer
of 88
DJ must have had
the smallest room
in New York
closets full of books
and ghosts

Crossbones laughter
in the heat

EL SEBBO

It goes like this

EL SEBBO

the poet spoke about
jpnese haiku
it rained outside

EL SEBBO

looking for something in the sky
reflected in my eye in the sky
objects are larger than they appear
in the mirror of your soul
rickety-o
rocket to the moon
my heart slowly suffocates
like a sweet-eyed Laika
oh la-la-la
space conquest is a lonely business
that’s why all poets
are astronauts
doo-da-oh
my eye in the sky
telescope of love
and distant emotions

EL SEBBO

This morning
Death knocked at my door
That’s how I realized
my doorbell was broken

EL SEBBO

So I’m back

yackety yack

nearly broke my back

and really need some smack

El SEBBO

Until now
I had always
ragarded darkness
as a friend

EL SEBBO

No inspiration today
Fuck make up
your own images

EL SEBBO

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

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

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

Empty bottles
Smell of ashes
Wine stains on the floor
Bad breath and a headache
It was a good party

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

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

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

We are the kings of nothing
but move like lightning
and leave on your eyes
a blinding scar

EL SEBBO

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

a word is a word is a word

EL SEBBO

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

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

It’s the time of the shadowcaster
when the streets are turning blue
and the sky becomes distant
He is frightening because
he can turn friends and lovers
into dark silhouettes
and make beauty transparent
but one should never forget
that he is the only one
who can turn
violence into whispers
and ugliness into mystery

EL SEBBO

Some say
that sex
is better
than poetry
That’s wrong
Sex is
much better

EL SEBBO

There is something I miss
in this healthy world
- the mixed scents
of perfume and cigarettes
giving beautiful women
this half-temptation
half-suicide aura
that reminded us
every day
that each minute
has a shadow

EL SEBBO

Another morning
another poem
is this genius
or stupidity?
Like an old king
I decide not to answer
as I stumble out of bed
to make some
hopefully
inspiring coffee

EL SEBBO CANSADO

To Seferis, Elytis, Ritsos, Cavafy, etc…

Greek poetry
is probably
the best in the world
just like the beer
commercial says
It is blue
like a spotless sky
crushing the shoulders
and elevating the soul
like the turning
of the head
and the possibility
of a smile
It is white
like the bones
in my hand
or the proud
stones left behind
by forgotten
architects
Yes
the best poets
in the world
but it is normal
After all
these people
invented
ruins

EL SEBBO

What will happen tomorrow
when the rain comes
and thunderbolts strike
at random?
Will I open my window
and applaud
or will I crawl
underneath my bed
praying to a God
who doesn’t believe
in me?
Will I run outside
laughing and singing
or sit in my room
shaking my head
and saying
“I told you so”?
Will I buy an umbrella
and walk alone in
the shiny streets
or will invite you in
and make a large
pot of coffee
so we can
chat about summer
and the passing
of the clouds?

EL SEBBO

Because they are great writers
because they were friends
because they are always a great inspiration
because they agree to everything I say
because they like what I write
because they don’t take up much space
because they are dead

EL SEBBO

The best poets
are always
women
and children
Women use words
to resist
and exist
in this
closed and unfair
world
Children
are natural
poets
gathering words
and images
like a colorful
jigsaw puzzle
But for us
men
ah
things
are different
because
the words
we use
were given
not taken
and the images
forged
not gently tamed
and like kings
on a tacky throne
we believe
in everything
we say
although
our words
simply roll
at our feet
like the tiny
plastic pearls
of a broken
necklace

LA SEBBA

Nothing inspires me today
This is France
after all

LE SEBBO

To Zamiatin and a few other courageous souls

Night has fallen upon us
impeccably blue
with a few artificial stars
bringing promises
of warmer winds
and colder days
A night
everybody should love
and why not?
It seems so perfect
Protective
Absolute
Strong
Merciless
Yes night has fallen upon us
but we still have a lighter
and a couple of cigarettes
to keep us warm while
we are waiting for
our frailties to be
publicly mocked
and justly punished
under the hard blue sky

EL SEBBO

If we knew
where we
were going
would we
go there?

EL SEBBO

I went to a poetry reading
the other night
and of course
I drank too much
smoked too much
and when I went
to the bathroom
I saw the silvery handle
vibrate a million miles
too fast
and I thought
fuck
what is this
poetry thing
coming to?

EL SEBBO