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


trying to be still

Lost in the ticking of a clock
the errant sounds of night
fallen deep

And she in the other room

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

Something less like cattle
and more like soul

But still you sit
in this late-night

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)

V is for their victory

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



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