I was in a ****** bar,
Or public house,
Being threatened,
For something I’d done.
Darting furiously…
Through city streets,
Running, running,
For something I’d done.
My companion hailed,
And stopped a bus,
Its metal doors flew open,
For something I’d done.
Had to get to them,
Had to get through them,
Under furious pursuance,
For something I’d done.

i'm not seeking an end to this sorrow,
because i feel that feeling as sad,
broken, remorseful as i am
might propel me
to doing something
about changing my existence
for the better, not temporarily,

but permanently.
i want this summer
to be the summer
whereby i effectuate this change,
effectively return to the world
from the shadowlands
in which i've existed for so long.

When he made
his first personal appearance
in the ***** alley
on someone else's rusty bike,
screaming along
in a cloud of dust,
it rendered us all
speechless and motionless.
But I was amazed
that despite his grey-faced surliness,
he was very affable with us...
the bully with a naive
and sentimental heart.
He was so happy
to hear that I liked his dad,
or that my mum liked him,
and he was welcome
to come to tea
with us at five twenty five...
Our adventures were spectacular:
chasing after other bikesters,
screaming at the top
of our lungs
into blocks of flats,
and then running
as our echoed waves of terror
blended with incoherent threats...
"I'll call the Police, I'll..."
Wicked cahoots.

Until recently, I had the impression
Of decaying
Along with the moral standards
Of contemporary Europe,
With London as the lieu
To which all Autoroutes lead.
                                                           ­         
In my room, I was surrounded
By debris
Of my existence,
Lacking the will even to clear
The carpet, whose colour,
Incidentally I came to forget.
                                                         ­           
I ceaselessly tampered with my hair,
Growing it long,
Having it cropped, hennaing it red,
Dyeing it blue-black, bleaching it near-white;
It fell out in bunches,
Desiccated and exhausted.
                                                      ­              
My face grew sallow and haggard,
With bloodshot, inflamed,
Glazed, blue-ringed orbs,
And bitten, bloated, ravaged lips.
My body lost its athletic aspect,
And became shapeless and emaciated.

my paris begins with
those early days
as a conscious flaneur
i recall the couple
seated opposite me
on the metro
when i was still innocent
of its labyrinthine complexity
slim pretty white girl
clad head to toe in denim
smiling wistfully
while her muscular black beau
stared through me
with fathomless orbs
and one of them spoke
almost in a whisper
qu'est-ce-que t'en pense
and it dawned on me
yes the young parisienne
with the distant desirous eyes
was no less male than me

dismal movies
in the forum des halles
being screamed at in pigalle
and then howled at again
by some kind of madman
or vagrant who told me
to go to the bois de boulogne
to meet what he saw
as my destiny
menaced
by a sinister skinhead
for trying on tessa's
wide-brimmed hat
getting ****** in les halles
with sara
who'd just seen
dillon as rusty james
and was walking in a daze
sara again with jade
at the caveau
de la huchette jazz cellar

cash squandered
on a gold tootbrush
two tone shoes
from close by
to the place d'italie
portrait sketched
at the place du tertre
paperback books
by symbolist poets
but second hand volumes
by trakl and deleve
and a leather jacket
from the marche aux puces
porte de clignancourt
losing gary's address
scrawled on a page
of musset's confession
walking the length
and breadth of the rue st denis,
what an artist's paradise
(as juliette once wrote me).

The legs started going,
Howlings
In my head.
Thought I'd go,
Kept awake with water,
Breathing,
Arrogantly telling myself
I'd stay straight.
Drank gin and wine,
Went out,
Tried to buy more,
Unshaven,
Filthy white shorts,
Lost, rolling on lawn,
Somehow got home.
Monday, waiting for offie,
Looked like death,
Fear in eyes
Of passers-by,
Waiting for drink,
Drink relieved me.
Drank all day,
Collapsed, wept;
"Don't Die on Me."
Next day,
Double brandy
Just about settled me,
Drank some more,
Thought constantly
I'd collapse;
Then what?
Fit? Coronary?
Insanity? Worse?
Took a Heminevrin,
Paced the house
All night,
Pain in chest,
Weak legs,
Lack of feeling
In extremities,
Visions of darkness.
Drank water
To keep the
Life functions going,
Played devotional music,
Dedicated my life
To God,
Prayed constantly,
Renounced evil.
Next day,
Two Valiums
Helped me sleep.
By eve,
I started to feel better.
Suddenly,
All is clearer,
Taste, sounds,
I feel human again.
I made my choice,
And oblivion has receded,
And shall disappear.

O how
Ruefully I pine
For a long lost Espanya,
What I wouldn't give,
To be young again...
And happy as I was back then...

Maria, full of peace,
Do you remember
Francis Albert
Sing songs of Tom Jobim
That mournful afternoon...
Happy as you were back then...

O for
That wide-eyed
Impression of yours,
Paquita La de Murcia
Of your beloved Marilyn...
Happy as you were back then...

O how
Ruefully I pine
For a long lost
Espanya,
What I wouldn't give,
To be young again...
And happy as I was back then...