The rain comes down
on MacDougal Street

as tea goes cold
in the cup

and the Chinese girls
speak Mandarin

while the rain
comes down
on MacDougal Street

Italian opera plays
as the waitress
bumps through
the crowded tables
and chairs

Outside
people run
under coats
like silent Banshees
on parade

while the rain
comes down
on MacDougal Street

The awning
catches a gust
of wind like laundry
drying in the sun

Drunk girls
puff unsuccessfully
on damp cigarettes

With the check comes
the smiling-for-the-tip smile
and time to call it a night

while the rain
comes down
on MacDougal Street

(D. James)

For inspiration
use your life
or steal
someone else’s

use words
to evoke images

If all else fails
light yourself
on fire
and tell me
how that feels

“Trust me”
the man said
“it works”

(D. James)

Is there time?
with all the waste
the things we do
perpetually
perpetrating
the idea of busyness

Is there time
to live, to think,
to be?

Or are we simply
taking up space
in between commercials
waiting to purchase cheap thrills
in a Chinese box?

Lost and out of time
not even sure what
words mean any longer

People speak at me
in languages I don’t
comprehend

With gestures and
too much emotion

Yet none of it
feels real

(D. James)