“That’s it!” he yelled to the clouds above
“I quit writing forever!”
And he did
And nobody noticed
EL SEBBO
“That’s it!” he yelled to the clouds above
“I quit writing forever!”
And he did
And nobody noticed
EL SEBBO
You thought I was gone
but you were wrong
My absence lingers
and your back feels
a little warmer
EL SEBBO
Life
is the imitation
of art
EL SEBBO
Time flies like a b-1 bomber
slow and dangerous
you can hear its reactors humming
above your head
but you don’t know
where it’s headed
and you don’t care
– at least
you pretend
you don’t
EL SEBBO
After being shot at all day
having fought hideous monsters
and saved his parents
from numerous dangers
the tiny hero
falls asleep
clutching his teddy-bear
EL SEBBO
sun in my eyes
my words are empty
your shadow moves on my retina
like a love letter
another day breaks
hope emerges
and I feel like
a cigarette
and a glass of rum
doodledy-dum
time to run
and have some fun
EL SEBBO
a mockingbird hops by
yellow beak and black head
my thoughts stop for a moment
EL SEBBO
Say no to gods
EL SEBBO
The sky is mystery
and the sea is a lie
Feelings are inaccurate
and ink is artificial
Yet blue is blue
no matter what
EL SEBBO
The heart is pink
lips are blue
revolutions are lost
red is a liar
EL SEBBO
White is the easiest metaphor
EL SEBBO
If writing poetry
is like pissing against the wind
remember that the wind
often changes direction
EL SEBBO
A beautiful car
is nothing
compared to
a good conversation
EL SEBBO
if my words were colored
like heads and then hands
then sometimes they could be
red machine or red lips
but mostly red silence
EL SEBBO
What we could say
is hidden
behind our words
EL SEBBO
I am mowing the lawn
a blackbird keeps me company
– almost a haiku
EL SEBBO
I am wearing shades
because I am afraid
my eyes might exist
EL SEBBO
Robert Rauschenberg has passed away
unfortunately death is not transparent
EL SEBBO
internet line down for 5 days
stuck here with my own words, munching on my dead
EL SEBBO
sun goes down moon comes up
I hold one in each hand
EL SEBBO
the apple-tree is blossoming
the songs of the birds again have meaning
EL SEBBO
I am writing a poem in my garden
the sun at the periphery of my thoughts
EL SEBBO
closed lips
a possibility of infinite
EL SEBBO
When things fall
objects happen
EL SEBBO
rain
depression
poetry
more rain