With nothing but chrome
and black gloss
we ride 'til dawn

Our piece of heaven
forged in hell
hanging with the
fallen angels

And when the sun rises
we'll put another night
to rest

(D. James)

Little man bangs his head
against a bell
at random

the sound echoes
through the staid museum

In a large room
marionettes do a mechanical
danse macabre

their tiny metal feet
tapping rhythmically on
the wooden floor

We are left
sitting in the corner
wondering why this is all
so mesmerizing

(D. James)

It flies
in your face
while you're not looking

What time is it
where you are?

Daytime
Wintertime
Nighttime
Springtime
Daylight Savings Time

Don't we all
want more time?

Six hours ahead
three hours behind

It would have to end
for it to be all the same

(D. James)

The narrow stares
of strangers
too many loud
angry sounds

The usual
evening birds
are absent

My blood
goes up
as I wait
for a fight
that never comes

A lone cricket
chirps into the darkness
breaking the tension
reminding me
that life
is good

Even if
my mood
isn't

(D. James)

Everything goes
black
and silent

This lasts
six or seven
hours

Then my eyes
open and the world
is remade
in an instant

(D. James)

Filtered through haze
softer
than the light
at noon

Similar to the dawn
but more powerful
for its proximity
and promise
of nightfall

Feel the final hour
of the day
and hope
for many more

(D. James)

(D. James)

A white half-moon
is held in
deep blue sky

As the town
goes quiet

(D. James)

You just have
to lean into it
and move a little
slower

(D. James)

when there is
nothing more
to be done

except crawl into bed
give over to sleep

I still fight
with myself

to finish one more thing
before I admit
defeat

(D. James)

(D. James)

Trees bend
people squint
as if in bright
sunlight

A haze
envelops the streets
women wrestle their skirts
hair tossed
every which way

A violent wind
shreds the city
tonight

Palm fronds litter
Sunset Boulevard
the homeless huddle
like refugees
in the entryway
of a long abandoned
nightclub

The weather
is the one thing
this town cannot control

(D. James)

for what
does not exist

All chatter
and clutter

with no way
to turn down
the sound
or change
the channel

(D. James)

What does any
of this accomplish?

I'd discuss it
but that only
leads us back
to the beginning

(D. James)

EL SEBBO

The palm trees
and imported cars
need the glint
to show their worth

It's harder to defend
this almost-city
when the weather
plays the hostile witness

(D. James)

Saying the most
benign things
about the weather
or what someone else
has already said

I look for silence

But still they talk
and talk
without really saying
anything

In the end
I wonder ...
do these words
really get us anywhere?

(D. James)

A place where
common-sense
and logic
triumph over
greed
insecurity
fear
and hate

A world that
puts humans
above corporations
where government
works in the interests
of the people,
all the people,
instead of against them

I want to live
in a world
where the truth
is a good thing
where knowledge
outweighs ignorance

Because frankly
I'm tired of hearing
these fantasies rooted
in gross unrealities
of heaven and hell

And I don't think
it's possible to move
to a better world
without forsaking
these fallacies of
nationalism
patriotism
and worst of all
religion

You can attack
me all you want
but the truth
will bear out

(D. James)

But I'm not
sure I should

Not because
I don't know
myself
or don't have
the words

More because
I fear they'd be
misunderstood

Or worse
I'd have to be
responsible
as if I have to feel
the same way
forever

And there's no way
of knowing
what the next day
will bring

(D. James)

No interest in food
or motion

Scents not
smelled before
emanate from somewhere
behind something in the kitchen

It's as if the sun
never goes down
never goes down
never goes down

Still it's better
than being cold

(D. James)

Not what you say
but when

I feel you
even after you've gone

The waiting hurts
like someone is
pulling something
out of my middle
by degrees

There are
three cures
You
Time
or Death

I'm still deciding

(D. James)

Have all the mystics
gone on strike?

Now they read
"Today is a nice day."
But that ain't no future

And anyway
it's raining

(D. James)

(D. James)

Tea is steeping
milk and sugar
patiently waiting

And I am lost
among the
knives and forks
plates of half-eaten meals

Thoughts adrift
in shafts of sunlight
spilled across the counter

Pay the check
leave a tip
and walk out
the same door
I walked in

Keep things simple
until my mind
returns

Bringing with it
what was lost
and found

(D. James)