not enough
sleep tired
too many
cigarettes tired
tired all the
time tired
two in the morning
writing
poetry tired
brain tired
road tired
time for bed tired
over-tired
wishing I didn’t
have to get up
and go to
work tired
nodding off
with my fingers
on the
keyboard tired
zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz
(D. James)
this thing strung together making no sense yet kept writing these words and not even thinking letting them flow and trying to keep up like in life when everything moves at the speed of sound and people keep moving and I seem to be in the way, slower than everyone else feeling tired and left behind it all seems a bit too much maybe I’m still on west coast time or it could be that I’m no longer interested in the rushing and running, the pushing and shoving, shouldering my way through life trying to get in front of the person in front of me assholes behind me kicking at the backs of my shoes, knocking them off skittering across the platform as the E train rushes out of the station and the next group of followers gathers in the station, and on to the next thing, the one after the one right before this one, how can anyone make sense of the world anymore when people start conversations in e-mail and end them in text, and no one, no one, answers the phone any longer, why can’t this rant end? because there are no endings and no beginnings, there’s just all this rushing around in the middle and when I go, and when you go, there will still be 6 billion and more on the planet to take up where we left off, and there is no reason for it, no meaning – it all is and it all isn’t and we’re here to sort out what it means to us now, and then we’re gone. And the sun will rise and the sun will set, and the sun will rise and the sun will set …
(D. James)
don’t take this
away
it’s the last
small joy
we have
like a slender shaft
of sunlight
through the basement
window
don’t take it
away
we won’t
know what
to do then
waiting,
like refugees
under a rain-soaked
tarp
hoping,
for what was
what might be
so please
don’t take it
away
they’ll be
nothing left
to say
(D. James)
let’s run away
she’d say
find
a place
where they
can’t find us
let’s run away
someplace warm
where the sun
always shines
find
that spot
where time
stands still
let’s run away
before we’re too old
let’s run away
before this life
kills us
let’s run away
let’s run away
let’s run away
at least until
the morning comes
(D. James)
like bits of paper
blown by the wind
which ones will I catch
in the net of my mind
hold onto for dear life
which ones will I let fly
laughing at what nonsense
I can come up with
what if they were all
just passing
like a small spark
or bolt of lightning
electric and fleeting
shinning a momentary light
then gone
instead of being turned
into the truth
(D. James)
nothing
no thing
no nothing
no
begin
at the middle
go back
to the end
then circle round
to finish
at the beginning
once you figure
it out
let me know
I’ll be waiting
(D James)
where does it
go
the time
seems like it
used to crawl
now I lose
track
of the days
and memories
are like stories
someone once told
I’m not even
certain
I’ve not written
this poem
before
(D James)
the blank page
stares back at me
silently mocking
my attempts
to scribble
something
of weight
the blank page
like a snow-covered
mountain
challenges my ability
to communicate
and whisper-laughs
at my thoughts of words
until I say
to the blank page
“ok, you write something”
then there is silence
and I can finally settle down
to begin the work of stringing words
together into something that makes sense
to someone
somewhere
(D. James)
light and dark
laughter and tears
never and always
right and wrong
bone and dust
blood and guts
intransigent and flexible
solid and liquid
everything
and
nothing
(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)
and and and
adding to what
was said
and and and
bringing together
disparate thoughts
and and and
an endless string
of ideas
and and and
where I’ve been
and and and
where I’m going
(D. James)
can’t eat
can’t sleep
can’t stop thinking
of you
waiting for a call
e-mail
chat
text
something
to let me know
you’re thinking
of me
when I’m thinking
of you
knowing
it’s no good
being like this
but doing it
anyway
’cause there are
no answers
only questions
so why not ask
the same one
over and over
(D. James)
this is bad
this desire
this wanting
this is not me
this is not you
this isn’t even who we think
this is
this is some evil
this
this twist
this pain
this feeling
this ache for you
this is just a dream
this nightmare
this remembrance of you
this haunting
this stillness of still wanting
this with you
this ending that never ends because I don’t want
this to ever end never wanted
this to end always wondered why
this did end
this always ending
this
(D. James)
here’s where
we get to that part
of the night
closer to dawn
than dusk
when the cars
rubber by
less frequently
and your
eyelids
will not
cooperate
everyone else
is long down
nothing
but the hum
of the refrigerator
to keep you company
and that last car
rolling past your window
won’t be another till dawn
best to wait for it
under the covers
if you’re lucky
it’ll go by
unnoticed
if you’re not
it won’t
(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)
there are times
like now
when there is
nothing to say
and so
I say
what’s
right there
” … “
(D. James)
in bed
curled around
her sleeping self
I think
this is what
I’ve always
wanted
to whisper
in an ear
that she’s
my one
and only one
but I don’t
realizing
that’s not me
that’s not her
it’s just an idea
in my head
from a song
Taupin wrote
about one of his
ex-wives
and what
does that
tell you
(D. James)
there are
all these words
and feelings
and messy things
spilled out
on the floor
like blood
seems there’s
no place
to put them all
can’t swallow them
try stuffing them
back into your gut
but they
no longer fit
feels like
you’ll die without
them
seems like
you’ll die with
them
where will you …
how will you …
what will you …
why would you …
go on?
(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)
Misty rain
falling all day
and through
the long night
odd streaks
splash the window
a dark
stark beauty
not so
when you’re
out in it
(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)
![[DiluteSpheroid]](http://0.gravatar.com/avatar/80b4af351746bd19de64a2486ff58795?s=30&d=identicon&r=G){kind=avatar}
