should have been over awhile ago

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)

confused? me too

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)

searching for dreams (don’t do no good in the real world)

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)

blap

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)

down day

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)

the last poet

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)

stubborn lazy do-nothing fucker

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)

pretty girl moves a room

she notices
the men who
turn their heads
just in time

the ones who look
but don’t want
to be obvious

trying to be
cool
but she
catches them
anyway

often sees
heads moving
to the left
or right

as if
they were
only observing
the room

the one
they’ve been
sitting in
for hours now

funny
how that
keeps happening

(D. James)

better get to it

waiting
for the keys
to speak

why don’t they
type something

must I do
everything
around here

I thought
this writing thing
would be easier

people talk about
poems that write
themselves

where can I
get me
one of those

they promised
life would be
more fun
on a Mac

but I still
have to do
all the damn thinking

(D. James)

can you have more answers than questions?

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)

a way out

In a struggle
of the mind

wanting to make
it out to be more
than it is

just a bunch
of thought
none of it
true

or all that
powerful

except when
I make it so
and so often
I do

more thought
doesn’t solve
anything

only action
gets me
out of my head
and into
the world

(D. James)

mind fuck

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)

omission missive

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)

to be young again

high heeled shoes
short black skirt
smooth legs

drive the herky-jerky
old men crazy

scratching and blinking
shaking their balding heads
remembering a time they had

wishing they weren’t
who they are
for one more day

before she walks
away

leaving them with
the faintest scent
of perfume

a memory
of a memory
lingers

(D. James)