years ago
skinny kid
thought he knew
everything
full of bravado
and half-believing
how is it
we lived
through all that
and have come
to this
desire
still tugs
at us
reaching across
the years
the miles
our lives
converging
this path set
before we walked
upon it
no idea
where it leads
only where we’ve
been
maybe
this time
we’ll get it right
(D. James)
I’m asking
I’m asking too much
but I’m asking anyway
’cause if you don’t ask
you don’t get
and I think
you want me to ask
it’s why
you found me
waiting for you
to come around again
so I could ask
so I’m asking
(D. James)
to live
for a great love
something imagined
but never attained
a moment
in time
regained
an improbable
second chance
do you defy
the odds?
or is it all
rash insanity
fools folly
destined
to self-destruct
in the end
do we care?
not if we are driven
by our desire
think
this is our
destiny
perhaps then
we make it so
or burn in the fire
set so long ago
suddenly too close
(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)
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)
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)
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)
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)
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)
exhausted
by talk
empty words
without action
said again
and again
until there is
nothing
but sound
like shadows
in fog
smoke and mirrors
leaving us
nowhere
with nothing
(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)
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)
There is the road
and then there is
the trip we take
on it
There is the sky
and the bird
that flies
There is the water
and the whale
There is fire
and smoke
Those who live
and them
that die
Questions
and even
some answers
(D. James)
can’t write my way
out of this
tomorrow
brings more
of the same
like a rat
on a wheel
being aware
doesn’t seem
to make it
any easier
though I keep
hope alive
(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)
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)
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 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)
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)
Without doubt
there are questions
without answers
But are there any answers
without questions?
(D. James)
I wake
and the world
has not changed
since last I looked
The world wakes
looks at me and says
What are you still doing there
waiting for the world to change?
(D. James)
If I told you
I wrote this
for the sake
of writing it
Made it up
just now as
the words for
their meaning
and nothing
more
Would it hold
weight …
respond to gravity?
Or do we have
to assign some other
definition to make it
a poem,
something greater
than what it is?
(D. James)
