November 2025

Back in France after six months

in Andulacia it is cold the earth

is brown the sky is gray the leaves

smell dead and except for wind

silence I am another year here

what I think matters little now

to what is eternal so many gone

in their turn so many still alive

this is the age of letting go

of everything except of what

is eternal I being the exception

 

Terminal two Lisbon

Amsterdam by lunch

what changes where

one of those portraits

of some one you don’t know

on a wall in a cafe

could be Lisbon Amsterdam

one of those portraits

of some one you might

recognize from Lisbon

Amsterdam

 

Saber sold hot dogs

on the Nieuwmarkt

lived across the street

couldn’t read

a little guy who brawled

in the red light bars

a daughter in The States

got him to Egypt ignored

his constant calls back

saw him last at the Zeepost

wouldn’t look me in the eye

The Scene

people come

and go

you have a laugh

over a drink

a smoke then

go home read

pass out

Poem at 58

seen enough

tired still

smoking drinking

heard enough

beauty’s interesting

everything else’s

not

 

Jeannie was there years

before I got there gone

years after I left

 

In Copenhagen I drank and smoked a lot

nobody blamed anyone for anything

we were young and wouldn’t die for years

fucked and ate had friends that weren’t friends

no money everything was new and we didn’t give a shit 

now almost every minute there’s a problem

the phone rings the car bleeps and no one

ever stops talking I wish they would