Our Man in Europe/now Belize/Dave Delacroix: "A road map to your ZEN."

 Our Man in Europe/now Belize/Dave Delacroix: "A road map to your ZEN."

...A ROAD MAP to your ZODIAC, a road map to your COOL, a road map to your ZEN...Do U have a NANO, a minute, an hour to learn just how U began? 

Afterall, a G.P.S. to your Soul, worthy of investigation/what's not to like, but perhaps only U?

A road map to your Umbilical, a "double helix" of imagination that reaches to the sky. It doesn't matter if U have to wonder why? ZEN? A neighbor?

...ZEN, a neighbor? Buddy/BABE on Facebook? Just a concrete-Internet concept away to chisel at your mind, Spam-on-Spam in (lingua) Mandarin? Maybe she's cute?

...A road map/G.P.S., satellites in the sky like "olde Tyme" road signposts, directing: "GO WEST YOUNG MAN!". Later? Let me know the reason why.

A zillion "friends" who U have never met. A road map to your Zodiac. A road map, a ONE-WAY street to your Cool. 

c.2026. Dave Delacroix. 

Our Man in Europe, now Belize, Dave Delacroix: "A kiss after midnight Blues."

 Our Man in Europe/now Belize/Dave Delacroix: "A kiss after midnight. Blues."

...WHATEVER IT TAKES, it could be JUNK, Cocaine or just the Booze. Whatever it takes, a broken Love, a broken Home, that song U sing.

Whatever it takes, late mornings or in the dead of night. Nobody's perfect, a long journey into the light. And a kiss after midnight, whatever it TAKES it's still U.

Whatever! Whatever! -It takes hard times, rough seas, outrageous fortune, and a ring upon a finger? Like two names carved upon a tree, and that kiss after midnight where we're supposed to be.

Whatever it takes, whatever we KNEW, that Man for U, that Gal for Me. Whatever it takes, that kiss after midnight... ain't never gonna set me free.

c.2026. dave delacroix.

Our Man in Europe/now BELIZE/Dave Delacroix: "ROLLO TOMASSI!" (After Movie, L.A. Confidential.)

 Our Man in Europe, now BELIZE, Dave Delacroix: "ROLLO TOMASSI!" (After Movie, L.A. Confidential.)

...ROLLO TOMASSI, THE KILLER in your heart, maybe your CONSCIENCE who gets away with murder? ...Somehow, however "LAURA", your EX, outta town, but U R in the frame; a Hearts grave is STILL dead to rights? One Heart? Two hearts? Did U have 2 keys?

Rollo Tomassi, that ghost-like, illusive black bag man U carry thru your life, yet who sometimes escapes giving the Cops "a shadow of a doubt" & on a wasted Saturday night WOTCHAGONNADO? -No Barkeep/tab-owing & dementia fellow barfly, "How's a Boy?" 

And no use in blaming it on a lost weekend/a drunkards Brigadoon: "I was at the 'Green Cockatoo" playing Poker with 5 guys named "Moe". It's a withered alibi when U look a SHAMUS in the eye before the L.A.P.D. slip on the bracelets?

There's VELMA of course who will (just for U) swear on a STACK (Bibles); WANDA will say the same, plead "double insemination", same time, different Malibu beach house: The tide, I guess was in that night.

Rollo Tomassi. Out on a spree? Heart palpitations, 2 "Frail" alibis. Boulevard neon's starting to bleed? Only ROLLO can save U. U need him like that trusted friend, like the umbrella from your bank manager, no worries...unless it's raining.

Rollo Tomassi. The Man in U. The one U wish U never knew? A Jack-be-nimble/Jack be quick! HISTORY! Biography? Bell, Book & Candlestick. Clues U left behind. Where does the Time all go? And your Rollo Tomassi...still on the loose!

c.2026. Dave Delacroix.

Our Man in Europe, now Belize, Dave Delacroix: "The Mariachi in the Afternoon."

 Our Man in Europe, now BELIZE, Dave Delacroix: "The Mariachi in the Afternoon."

...THE MARIACHI (singing/guitar/travelling Minstrel) in the afternoon; 'hungover!", choice - drinks - a RIOJA or a glass of MILK, ashtrays full, mind numb from the concertina night before when his magic ruled the bistro floor.

The Mariachi in the afternoon, faded tuxedo, blurred mascara, dainty lipstick on his collar, bowtie askew, no Roadies, no Groupies - all gone home -to encore. A thunder within their own experience. A memory. Soon forgotten.

The Mariachi in the afternoon, a MATADOR in aspic, now over dressed, comic, a psyche-marooned with a past night HUZZAH! An echo of a maverick a-song. Just a Mariachi in the afternoon. Truely solo. A guitar by his side with 3 broken strings.

c.2026. Dave Delacroix.

Our Man in Europe, now Belize, Dave Delacroix: "BLU MOON."

 Our Man in Europe, now Belize, Dave Delacroix: "BLU MOON."

...BLU MOON OVER London, Paris or Rome when U R alone but as long as U R, ALONE, to kiss the splendor of the Night.

BLU MOON, a heart in exile, that suture for your wound, an exhumation, yet a mirror-cracked; was it laughter or a SCREAM, a tender heart in a Blu moon night?

BLU MOON. A Great Gatsby, a Night Swimmer, swimming pool, cut down like a Baron, a King, an unrequited destiny, an AL BOWLLY background song?

BLU MOON, standing alone. Without a dream in your heart. Without a love of your own.

c.2026. Dave Delacroix.

Our Man in Europe, now Belize, Dave Delacroix: "Angel of the Morning."

 Our Man in Europe, now living in Belize: "Angel in the morning."

...ANGEL IN THE MORNING. Angel hanging out. In plain sight. The Angel of the Morning, bloody Mary-cocktail, awakening. That drunken Man, ears filled with Tavern song & midnight stories, myriad visions in Pine forests...

... a wisp in the wind, a dance in your gaze or to clutch at your crotch like a Goethe "Schwartz-Nacht Engel"...Saint Walpurgis night!...

...Wizards, devils dance in the air, a satanic ANGEL un-afraid, that screams that hollow scream enabling your song for a night into a dreary day which lights a lantern to stumble on your way.

DOGS ARE BARKING! But Cats MEOWW...like angels in the morning, "a-la" a daughter (Sisters?) a love for her pet Lamb? A courage un-foreseen. A William Tells bow ARROW, a spleen. Did U ever SCRATCH THAT? TELESCOPE? Did he who made the Lamb make thee? And just who or what R. U. supposed to be?

The Angel in the Moonlight, an intrinsic forgotten valve, a lost kernel, a bud, a shoot from another's tree. Or a promise, a SYMPHONY, yet like an angel in the morning ...flew with gossamer wings.

c.2026. Dave Delacroix

Our Man in Europe/now Belize/Dave Delacroix: "Sweet Bird of Youth." (A'pres Tennessee Williams.)

 Our Man in Europe, now Belize, DAVE DELACROIX: "Sweet Bird of Youth." (A'pres Tennessee Williams.)

"Sweet Bird of youth."

...Sweet bird of youth, soft, tanned, tonal flair & all the diamonds in your golden hair. A midnight kiss, a Moon alight, a gleaming, a glint in an eye, a Tyger-Tyger in a jungle night?

Sweet bird of youth, an Act within a Play to prick the conscience of an aging world; a tribute, a trouble, a cloud, a sleek horizon, a loves re-doubt!? A timetable un-registered! A CHASM"s fading shouts, triple ECHO smolders... like kisses of clay. Lack-a-day & all our yesterdays.

Sweet bird of youth lost too soon. A legend-illusion like the Man on the Moon. Lost like ATLANTIS & all of its joys, enjoyed now by proxy; GONE! And SWEPT, now astray. No Prince nor Pauper. Away-away! Sweet bird of youth -marooned on the moon.

Sweet bird of youth, an ICARUS flight. A place in the Sun, loves waxwings un-wind. A Song of Songs. A SAGA chant! A silent chorale un-sounds. As birds' wings, noiselessly shadow that sweet bird of youth to no longer mirror your marrow.

Sweet bird of youth, a dance, a song, light on your feet, flirtations belong. A "Festa di Complianni" (Happy Birthday in Italian), a Carnival: "Plasair d'amour!" (French lingua: It means U STILL owe me $20!)  as that Tyger-Tyger prowls thru your night.  That Sweet bird of Youth. Your ghost, your future night.

c.2026. Dave Delacroix/aged 70.

Our Man in Europe/now Belize: Dave Delacroix: "Sweet Raglan."

 

Our Man in Europe, now in Belize, Dave Delacroix: "Sweet Raglan."

...I know where I'm going and I know my own Tomorrow. I know where I'm going & no one's gonna stop me.... Keep your HEAD a-low, U foolish British Gentry, schoolboys are taught, a reptile-rigamortiz, an Arithmetic-propriety. The old school tie. But God forbid not ME or YOU:

...I know where I'm going. And I know just who loves me! I know where I'm going. No one can ever stop me. His she blonde or his she black, a Tartan of the Campbell? Does she blow the pipes, or strike the drum, my heart, my drear, my sweet, my Raglan. (Gal who kicks Ass!)

I know where I'm going. And I know just whom to go to. I know where I'm going, my sorrow & my lonely destiny. My maiden in the Scottish heather. An arrow struck her on the parapets, defending my castle as I, away at the Crusades. A-lack-a-day a Scottish Play!!! And now I sit in sorrow.

ALAS, God damned BLUES!!! But I know where I'm going. And I know my own Tomorrow. I know where I'm going. I know just where I'm going. Do YOU know where you are going, perhaps to meet sweet Raglan. I string my Bow, my arrow true: As for ME, my armor-ruptured, no-ne can stop me! I THINK I still know where I'm going!

Sweet Raglan. Where are you now?

(Dementia entrails & words tend to fail, a mind un-wind chisels at this grind.)

I know where I'm going.

c.2026. dave delacroix.

Our Man in Europe/now Belize/Dave Delacroix: "BRIGADOON!"

Our Man in Europe/now Belize/Dave Delacroix: "Brigadoon."

(dedicato:  Craig Jobe. R.I.P. Soldier-HERO in Vietnam, Inventor-Unique & Carol Aniello's/Dave Delacroix's best friend.)

(Brigadoon!" Once every year, the SCOTTISH LEGAND has it's been told, the FOG lies over the LOCH & all your Ghosts/Legends/Heroes descend from Valhalla to sing, dance in a festival of yesteryear & make "WHOOPIE!!!"

"Brigadoon!"...

 In remembrance, in Emporium: THE GHOSTS of our lives... ever be kind? Laments, regrets? Will they never CEASE that persecution in our SLEEP or let us recline? Alas. "Le plate de Jour"! We REAP what we SOW not caring the Morrows, debut an Oboe, a solo, a meteor in the night, 

...that singular WULPH!... an aghast "Honey," A nature's flatulence-UN-bodily. UN-controlled, a cerebral SMEAR, the artwork on your wall? "Honey, did U get that painting at the Flea Market? Did U paint it?" Some mirror. Some soul? "I could-a POSED!?" Leastways: "A.I." (Craig Jobe, laughing upstairs!) ...as we imagine all our DEPARTED, keeping the upstairs the beer on ice, smiling?

Who WAILS, the UN-foreseen, the ghosts, the HAUNTING, some ZIG-ZAG, a T.V. remote; just WHO - in the nights sky - moved OUR Elon Musk Satellite Moon? -David Bowie's movie: "The Man who fell to Earth?" -whose kiss did U last tasted? Did U write a Poem. Did U give a darned, Like a Man! Like a Girl? Legs a-akimbo: Come and get me-World? SURELY I WILL Frick U!

The Man U first loved in the lowlands, in the highlands, Loch Lomond. It was "a bonnie Wee Lass", a HIGHLAND- Scottish -regalia, fife & drum to herald a Maid, married at a Celliedh/Scottish Rave to sing of her virginity's loss, pipes & drums. Haggis munches & the Pipes!

 A fool in a Zoom. A fool in a Zoom, Lanvin No 6 lipstick at your last encounter? (Don't feel guilty/face-cosmetics, Monte Carlo, Cannes, boulevard des Anglais) ...when LOVE takes its token? Girl or Boy> U lie on the beach. What is your Want? What is your need? Spandex? A skeletal clothed in muscle, nerves & vivacity.

"OUT DAMNED SPOT!" (Scottish Play/Lady Macbeth) Ghosties in the night, that inner resurrection, what TITS or DICKS that writhe like serpents, let our secret nightmares dance, let those damned ghosts in our mind, twisting & turning, an inner burning, rogue, ever thriving, yet do leave us behind: 

AS ALWAYS, Hollywood SUITS, poking in their Gucci clothes noses. (Hanging on by their fingernail/expenses-jobs) ...

For WE!!! A "BRIGADOON" A mystery. A thought in the fog. Our love, regrets, the horrors we take to our grave. A Scottish Highland song, pipes & all to Brigadoon! The BAGPIPES RAVE! As we lament what pieces of our heart we can STILL SAVE! "OCH AYE!!!" To that fog of Brigadoon.

c.dave delacroix.2026

Our Man in Europe, Dave Delacroix: "Bloodshot MOON!"

TERED Our Man in Europe, Dave Delacroix/LORD BORGO: Bloodshot Moon!"

MY Moon, YOUR Moon, OUR Moon, that bloodshot sucker in the nights sky, circling our insanity, probably gonna need a millennium of psychotherapy?... That night lantern shadowing our diversity. A symbol of WHA!? Some night, our Moon may not shine.

 Some ROCK in outta Space. INSENSITIVE/couldn't care less, but maybe UNIVERSALITY pleads or SUGGESTS an innocence-indifference, but not a be-wigged Court to deport U to Australia or send U to the Gallows? Some night, our Moon may not shine.

SLAVE SHIPS to the Colonies for over a hundred years! Slaves in ancient times "de regeure"...!!! Who sings of Galley-slaves or Christian martyrs thrown to the lions? (Good eating?) Or battles! Sword on sword. Murder on murder to save the Purse of a King? Some night, our Moon may not shine.

Caesar, Timberlane, Genghis Khan, all Pharaohs have eyed, eye witnessed, been witness to our bloodshot Moon. Its visible craters, perhaps its CRATERS, the wounds we have sown? Tyranny. Injustice. We spew like a phlegm of lice as latter day, NOW in a city of dreams, HOLLYWOOD we ferment our device/VICE portraying all our yesterdays & future divined? Some night, our Moon may not shine.

 A Hi-tech Drone overhead, injections in mice, COVID in a test tube, as madness prevails, who wants to be BOSS, like a ravaged Protest Song of all that we've lost. And as for the Moon? Who DEVIL'S the morrow that cannot find the light? Some night, our Moon may not shine.

And as for the Moon. MY Moon. YOUR Moon. OUR Moon. That Bloodshot Moon. A witness!  Which out there in Space, CRATERED, lonely, orbiting the sky. Some night, lack-a-day, your faithful Moon may not shine.

c.2026, Dave Delacroix.

Our Man in Europe/Dave Delacroix; "MAIGRET!" (Famous literary French Police Detective.)

 Our Man in Europe/Dave Delacroix: "Maigret!" (...a'pres George Simenon)

"MAIGRET!"

.... ON A PARIS "Maigret" wet night, MURDER in the air, no suspects, no alibies, an abundance of lies, little truth & all disguised? Eyewitnesses' Zodiac. Seen too many "Film Noir" Movies? " The killer looked like Bob Mitchum from "Out of the Past", Could-a been Humprey Bogart, the "Maltese Falcon": DEAD RINGER (in French)!

Maigret tells his boys, go to nearest Cafe. One Franc for the eyewitnesses in case they think of something new... Give Em a Gitaine, a Gauloise. (Cigarettes & a Cognac). Make Em feel blue?

On a Paris-"Maigret" wet night, smoke from Maigret's pipe scents the boulevard, a combat with escargot/snails against severe garlic from the Cafe de la Paix. The murder scene, a swarm of Gendarmes promenading/investigating, poking around with their batons less they soil their pristine uniforms.

Still. The Rue Madelaine never looked so innocent. The ghosts of Balzac, Zola, Apollinaire, Rimbaud, Baudelaire do indeed haunt these quarters. World War 2 gave Paris an Allied/Nazis "Blitz" bombing break. The French Resistance? Some serious HEROES. But the murder of a Girl in peace time? French blood boils!

On a Paris "Maigret" rainy-wet Parisian night, getting murdered, a "Lanny" in a red dress, a transgender, a "Grisson" or a maid just on her way home? "Croissants et Cafe au lait Monsieur?" Cafe des Amis Rendezvous. Her Cafe clientele knew this girl so well. 

Her NAME- "Michele", dress ripped & torn. The last lonely BELLS she would ever hear, St. Eustace church, that eternal DING-DONG! DING-DONG!  From the "BnB/long term albergo" of France's dead Kings; a Francois Villion sonnet for Michele, too late. As for whom the bells tolls: DING-DONG! DING-DONG! "Ou sans les Neige d'antan?"...

On a Maigret wet Parisian night evil sometimes pervades, no suspects, no alibies, little truth, a glass of Pastiche, a glass of beer at the Cafe Dolphin yet Maigret alert, puffing on his pipe...the Concierge, where she lived, did she turn on the light? And Louis, the bartender, jilted lover, at the Cafe des Amis Rendezvous; was he waiting with a jealous stiletto that night?

LUKA, Maigret's right hand man awaits his orders!

c.2026, Dave Delacroix.

Our Man in Europe/nowBelize, Dave Delacroix: "PALOOKAVILLE!"

 Our Man in Europe, now BELIZE, Dave Delacroix: "PALOOKAVILLE!"(after Raymond Chandler)

"Palookaville!"

...I was working, office sink mirror, on my Mullet (haircut), my neglected foot-dangling a tad askew. I needed to exercise. Hit the office bottle. I hadn't seen VELMA in a while. NOBODY-lately, no high-end corpse having got murdered for a discreet "P.I." (A Shamus). This is bad for business: 

A lady suspected with a diamond necklace/absent dude in a Tuxedo, the chauffer A.W.O.L. with the big shots Rolls-Royce? And lipstick on your collar? (Thank U VELMA!) Even unemployed I felt like I needed a Chinatown laundry; a Palookaville-one way ticket stub before I hit downtown?

Some say that a STIFF (Dead frick U murdered) his heavier than a broken heart. Throw him in a Packards trunk, off the pier, South L.A. Bay: Malibu canyons, Las Vegas surrounds make Arlington Cemetery small, sadly less renown.

The TORCHER (Razzy-Night Club singer with the everlasting nylons), another VELMA, ZELDA (whatever) sitting now in my humble outta office, sniffling, handing me an envelope stuffed with dead Presidents, should I take the Case?

'Did U kill him? Did U drive him off the cliff, Pacific Palisades? It's IN the NEWS, that Packard, driven off the pier, that lipstick smear upon his dead lips? Did U KILL HIM!?"

...THIS GIG (a SHAMUS)  ain't for just anyone, the crunch Fedora, Gabardine-belted, a resident leer, wise cracks on hand, a loser, a fool ...in someone else's "Film Noir"?...

"Did U kill him?"

"NO! My lover, the chauffer!"

"Is he dead too?"

"I can explain that!"

At which point, Sergeant Nalty/Uniforms (L.A.P.D.) burst through my office door!

c.2026. dave delacroix.

Our Man in Europe, now Belize, Dave Delacroix -a.k.a. David Michael Oxley on Facebook - "FAT MARGO."

 Our Man in Europe, now Belize, Dave Delacroix: "Fat Margo."

HER LAST GREAT AFFAIR, she could do no wrong, that menopause, that urgence, that throng. That LAMIA coil, one last time, writhing she had to BE strong. That Girl now a great Lady, a need to sing her song.

That Period Pimple once upon her face now vanquished as times, now erased. No Ovulating, no bleeding, no trace of who she was. Her last great affair...a lonely maiden's song; she sings of tomorrow but mostly of yesterday... whence minstrels would court her & gather round and life seemed so gay.

Come-come U Dances! Come play!

Her last great affair, a dagger to her heart!  AGE! An inner elopement confounded, a tribal/Clan surrounded, yet then, when the bounder-suitor's absconded, last heard: No fixed address, killed, cutlass/pistole with Kit Marlowe (playwright) in a London South River bar?

Close friends whisper: "I told u so?"

Her last great affair, a Nunnery bound. And ALL this took place before, a posey Romeo & Juliet, Paris & Helene, Abelard & Whoopsies, serious stuff/history, her last great affair REVERBS and leaves tears on the ground. Message in a bottle? Maybe a ghost-Email, Time-Travel; Loves wormhole?

"TO THE NUNNERY-WENCH!", Mediaeval songs sing. Fat Margo. Brothel Ma'am. Whose last great affair do U sing of now?  Leaving the rest of us - a kind of Loving - in this WORLD BORDELLO ...where we ply our trade.

c.2026. Jan. Dave Delacroix.

Our Man in Europe, Dave Delacroix: "GUITAR! GUITAR!"

 Our Man In Europe, Dave Delacroix/now Belize: "GUITAR! GUITAR!"

(For LOIC, Mon frere dans Montmartre-Paris)

I KNEW A GERMAN KID IN LUDWIGSHAFEN who used to SLEEP with his Gibson Les Paul guitar. A white one. His dream. I never did tell him most of my OWN guitars had been smashed on stage, fricked out, stolen, 1 or 2... I stole too or, ON THE ROAD used them as a pillow, guitar-case blanket on concrete, in times of frustration threw them/SMASHED-NECK on the ground in hot deserts, Montana cold or California dew.

Played them at Music Festivals, Culture Festivals, Bars, Clubs, Roadhouses, House Parties, played/sang my heart out I guess...but invariably ON THE STREET, Winter, Summer, cold & sleet, my "TELL-TALE- HEART: (Edgar Allen Poe): Guitar-Guitar! Sometimes, not musically deranged, GITANO-MAN looking strange, FRANCOIS VILLION minstrel cursed perhaps (BAH!), other times I'd worship the guitar, their nubile shape, change the worn-out strings, get to short-string round the tuning pegs, make playable so the dammed things RING, 20 minutes MORE busking for medicine, 2 pitches of Budweiser at the nearest bar?

And ON THE ROAD, Guitar-Guitar! Crashed out in some alley, Guitar-pillowcase, TWICE stolen & papers, song lyrics, a change of clothes, gone!!! I'm passed out of course, drunk with the ghosts of beyond? Guitar? It doesn't matter. LIFE's choices, Men & Boys. Another Guitar? U meet some cool Gal. Get a "windfall". Back a Pony Winner. Cameo on a L.A."GONG SHOW!" Or HOOK A TUNE. Hollywood loves an un-invited talent adrift; but it's the MUSIC U share that stirs life's fresh brew... for the World?... Guitar-Guitar. Guitar-guitar. A Song. The Unique. And who U are.

Long time ago I met a kid in Ludwigshafen who used to sleep with his Guitar....

c.2026. Dave Delacroix.

Our Man in Europe/now Belize, Dave Delacroix: "Rendezvous SANS Rendezvous!"

 Our Man in Europe, Dave Delacroix: "Rendezvous SANS Rendezvous!"

,,,THERE'S A JU-JU MAN in every Soul, a genetic implant, an opportune Budda, Mohamed, Jesus or a pantheon of GODS, a quik fix Rubik's Cube to (Beatles song:) "I'm fixing a HOLE where the rain gets IN & stops my mind from wondering."...to fog your destiny?

There's a JU-JU Man, a cerebral-septic in every Soul, dyslectic, bipolar, an eventual GOBSMACK-own goal? A Film-Noir script devil, the Devil Un-blinking, that lost UN-KISS, romance-frigid. And U STILL owe money to your Tailor, the taxi - meter running - awaiting your ride?

There's a JU-JU Man, Conscience DRUMS with regrets BEAT. U tear up her foto, her love letters thrown into the fire. Her E-Mail deleted with murder in your heart? Sweet memories, a rendezvous Sans rendezvous, that heat of your night when nothing else mattered, yet the wings of your plight.

Rendezvous sans rendezvous, at the Cafe where we met, on a corner, the boulevard St. Germain like Amber Heard & Johnny Depp. Yet somehow, the best of times, the worst of times it all went South. A rendezvous sans rendezvous, played out, a Cowboy's mouth.

c.2026. dave delacroix.

Our Man in Europe, now in Belize, DAVE DELACROIX; A.K.A. David Michael Oxley on Facebook: "The Good Woman of Szechwan."

 Our Man in Europe/now Belize//Dave Delacroix: "The Good Woman of Szechwan!"

,,,,I-MAH GONNA WRITE A LETTER, an E-mail or post an Inter-net POST/we R all -- within reason/sic. - somehow, collectively insane. So, I'm gonna COMPLAIN, it's what FREE PEOPLE do, anonymous, synonymous within the cloak of personal dignity whilst keeping our powder dry; an UZI transformed into a BANJO!?

I'm gonna COMPLAIN. I'm gonna write a letter/rattle my walking stick on the concrete before the Sun sets & the World goes to Hell in a handbasket, Histories "B-Movie" plot: Whence DO "B-Movie actors OR Real-Estate dirt-bags, essentially BODY NAZIS & DIRT PIGS become Presidents as well as their WIVES (Livia-wife of Caesar Augustus/Ancient Rome) ...

.... (Nancy Reagan/her evil twin Margaret Thatcher/U.K. P.M) get to rule by proxy the World & launch missiles to beyond? Girls on fire!? -Max Factor/Lanvin No.5 get to fiery kiss Foreign Policy, un-restrained without consultation to CONGRESS, PARLIAMENT, the MASONS, MOSAD, OPUS DEI, or my Ol'Granny in the British/gossip Fish & Chip shop!?

I'm gonna write a letter. The PEN is supposed to be mightier than the SWORD (discounting Suicide notes). MRS CHAIRMAN MAO & the "Gang of 4"? Just WHO can "let loose the dogs of War" except historically, Caesar, Napoleon, Hitler, Stalin, ISLAMISTS, and most recently, TSARIST Vlad. Putin presently "impaling" Russia's economy, the mass murder of Ukraine's youngsters/Russian KIDS too?

I'm gona write a letter: PITY the good woman of Szechwan washing laundry, cooking rice, her limousine-a -BICYCLE reflecting on a life of sacrifice. And all the days, THESE OUR DAYS, a long day's journey into night that ne'er ever can find TOMORROW'S light.

c.2026. Dave Delacroix.

Our Man in Europe/now Belize/Dave Delacroix/a.k.a-David Michael Oxley on Facebook: "The Queen of Spades."

 Our Man in Europe/now Belize/Dave Delacroix/a.k.a. David Michael Oxley on Facebook: "The Queen of Spades."

"The Queen of Spades/"apres" Russian Poet PUSHKIN.

....MURDER IS MURDER, a heart for a heart, Cain & Abel, REMUS & the other guy, a GAL somewhere in between. Poison? A stiletto?

Or a Glock 9mm, that old Victorian fave ARSENIC ("sans" old lace) to cramp/crimp the advances of your best friend, brother, cousin, the competition, to win a young maid's heart?

Maybe she doesn't LIKE YOU!? Rachael-Rachael! "Ask the Maiden!" Does she have to die?

Murder is murder. U might get to SWING (?), a gamble on a playing card, the Queen of Spades; with your own hands U dig your own grave, instant, or regrets, a haunting plague, a Kadish or Dirge...but not for U. Darkness orbits in all that we choose.

 And the "long time Sun", as planets YO-YO/cycling, shine out after U've been hanged, a silent echo to yet further UN-resound. Guaranteed-forgotten! What is this passion/CULTURE that turns Men into Hounds? 

Murder is murder. A Life for a Life. A Contessa, a Lady, a fishmonger's wife. A girl defying ISLAM who let her long hair flow free. Stoned to death, Bride-burning, yet Medievalist/Islamist MEN a-feared she be the Queen of Spades, "in shah-Allah" towards their darkest evil fate.

Like Prometheus, a dark specter hovers, carrion picking at my bones, in a World of gender of in-justice & my computer-laptop battery is running low.

c.2026. Dave Delacroix.

Our Man in Europe, now Belize, Dave Delacroix: "The Whistler."

 Our Man in Europe, now Belize, Dave Delacroix: "The Whistler."

1) LONDON BRIDGE IS falling down, my fair Lady. I flipped a Nickel on Dean street-SOHO, it came up a Dime, don't ask me why. Should-a bought a lottery ticket?

London bridge is falling down, my fair lady. A Billie Holliday song. It resonated! How come it gets "moon-ish", Hemmingway's Death in the Afternoon. Like an unemployed Matador "sans TORO" pawning his gear? 

London bridge is falling down, my fair lady. I got TWO PENNIES trying to mate, a guitar missing a "D" string, a voiceless cancer throat, nothing drums. Yet a PULSE!

London bridge is falling down, my fair lady. Who "da Man" who counts your "counters" down on main street? Money changers in Jerusalem. Jesus without a Credit card or Bitcoin? (Where did it all go wrong?)

2) And ALL THE KINGS HORSES and all the King men couldn't put him back together again. Ya gotta be "Ray Noble" conducting, when "Al Bowlly" croons. A talent unique. Prophets have the worst luck. AL got bombed by a Nazi V-2 rocket in London-WW2! (WotchagonnaDo?)

All the Kings horses & all the Kings men, sticking plaster/band-aid/WD40 maybe? -"I am the WHISTLER and I whistle by night. I seep into your sleep. Conscience, regrets, plague your nap.

All the King horses & all the Kings men. My NEED is your KEEP! - Needy people need needy sleep yet fail to honor their waking hours...Yet who's to judge in this Bi-polar World? The yen for the YEN, ducats, drachmas, COIN, something U cannot eat.

3) RING-A-RING a ROSES, a pocket full of poesies. "ATTICHOO! ATTICHOO!" We all fall down. (No Medicare!)

Ring-a-ring a-roses, a pocket full of poesies. Alas, nothing will ever put our Love back together again. "ATTICHOO! ATTICHOO!" Like clowns. We all fall down. Or fret ourselves into dusty death.

,,,,London Bridge is falling down, my fair Lady. London bridge is falling down, my fair Lady.

c.2026. dave delacroix.

Our Man in Europe, now Belize, Dave Delacroix: "SORRY!!!"

 Our Man in Europe, now Belize, Dave Delacroix: "SORRY!"

WE ARE THE "SORRY" MEN", second guess our every move. WE R the SORRY folks, walking on eggshells? We SAY "SORRY!", least five times an hour, sometimes with conviction, sometimes just passing by; WE say "Sorry/excuse a-Mio!" with every breath or sneeze.

We R the SORRY Dudes, doesn't matter for one & All. An Islamist Terrorist murders 20 of our kids, we fire a missile back & then...feel sorry? We say sorry on the phone, ordering a coffee at a kiosk, a sway in a queue for a theatre ticket, a bump in a Pub, gotta require a "Sorry", polite in the belief that Life is a game of Cricket.

WE R the SORRY folks, WW1, over the "TOP" armed only with a Swagger-stick! We R the SORRY RACE, dignified, mowed down in Ypres, 10,000! A Sorry BLOOD -thick as mud!..We R the Sorry BREED but our enemies will never-ever respect our creed...until we WAKE UP!!!

c.2026. dave delacroix.

Our Man in Europe/now BELIZE/Dave Delacroix: "ORBIT!"

 Our Man in Europe, now Belize, Dave Delacroix: "ORBIT!"

...ORIBIT OF THE GODS, our circum-non-navigation is MANIFEST, a random curse or just plain "good luck", we have come so far in our fallibility...in space & time?

In Switzerland, south of Basel, just above the famed "RICOLA"/herb-mouth mint factory, hitch-hiking, backpack, guitar, a lone roadside apple tree. I plucked off 4 & left the other 20 apples for whosoever might follow me...

By Torino, Italy near the FIAT car factory in a warehouse BAR (Ragazzos - MEN - ONLY/1975) the Friday night boys drank mucho Vino & sang their hearts out where 2 "chosen" Tenors sang: "O Sole Mio, etc." & the  (Fiat workers) 300 choir, the lads dutifully accompanied in perfect somber harmony; the Opera at "La Scala" in Milano, THESE GUYS? -their pain, resignation, love, passion without compare.

Hitch hiking across the Nevada desert, U.S.A., my throat parched, heat-stroke, but I managed a whistle brave & true. I was flailing. No water. It was getting Night, but a Hippy B/W bus stopped, gave me a ride to Las Vegas: Lights-Camera-ACTION! Free drinks. Free buffet. (Play BLACKJACK!) Strange things happen but sometimes it's true?

A Satellite of a Satellite zooming round the zodiac, orbiting round some ICON, man-made, never knowing. The Orbit of U.

c.2026. Dave Delacroix.

Our Man in Europe/now Belize/Dave Delacroix: "Damascus."

 Our Man in Europe, now Belize, Dave Delacroix: "Damascus."

DO YOU COME from Damascus, do U come from Rome, did U text me from America, did U message me all alone?

Did U SIGNAL an S.O.S. from Sweden, Beijing, Uzbekistan, Ceylon, do U feel all alone in your Internet zone?

Do U ever wonder just who U once WERE now talking to a ghost, in the dark, an alien spectrum, a place, an inner-ECHO, a stark...

Is there an Edvard Munch/painting SCREAM a 'tremble in your soul; do U hail from Damascus, do u hail from Rome.

Do U come from Ireland, a garden of songs? Do U sing of your homeland, far away now gone. Do U come from Damascus? U are not alone.

Do U sing of the rivers of Babylon where we all sat down. "It's cold out there, Baby." You'd better chill out.

c.2026. dave delacroix.

Our Man in Europe/now Belize, Dave Delacroix; "THE MANDARIN."

 Our Man in Europe/now Belize, Dave Delacroix (a.k.a. on Facebook: David Michael Oxley): "THE MANDARIN."

(dedicato: Acountessa Carol Aniello)

"The Mandarin." (The fallibility of a JU-JU-Man)

..."Soldier" is on patrol, roaming the estate/compound. "Bela' "is  killin' geckos/bugs. (Names of my Pet Cats.) It's what OUR CATS DO. So, what do all U boys & girls of yesteryear FEAR, or for that matter, tomorrows horrors? Are we not FELINE protected! (Kharmic PURRS!) No worries.

 ...Pets, Cats, busy scratching/washing PURRING//patrolling? ...Yet a North wind SECRETS your psyche in knots, an Inter-net virus: "OUT DAMNED SPOT!" (Lady Macbeth having a tantrum!) Outside of an ASP, Cleopatra's ghost? ((Cats Anonymous?) or lack of valor? Handguns/.38 Specials not yet invented. Echos of your Opie's Film Noir or your Parents Disco years>

 Do you (dance) "Pogo" do you do "The Toaster! /up & down", the "LURCH"/kind-a Corpse-like, or the "ROBO"., the latter my fave. U adopt a zig-zag stance/stay put till the Disco fog song ends. No exertion needed. (Invented by William Houston from Texas), but AS for your Wars, trouble & strife...centuries before...

...an "Agincourt", A "Crecy" (your ancestors/ battles/long bows/arrow thingies) where English RAIDERS in their self-glory destroyed peaceful French farmers & raped their Maids/Meet the NEW BOSS-SAME AS THE OLD BOSS, new devils, new GODS, that low-life kernel of nature, people had to die (?) And devils in Life's fog... coughing the phlegm to spital, actuality for a viral "reason"?

... No coffee. Not even a decent cigarette! Misery always needs a friend. Form a Trade Union?  Gods un-needed. That SCREAM un-sound!!!

"Soldier" (my Cat) ...on patrol, no control. "Bela" (my other Cat) killing geckos, s-what CATS do. Outside of purring, S-what we morons do too! Propagation S-what's divinely engineered, celibacy not an option. Even the Virgin Mary got knocked up! Wondering if Mohamed had a decent sex life. No mention in the Koran. Allah-Akbah-nice to meet U! "No Intifada on MY "Shorties!" (Underpants)

I AM TIRED OF PISSING MY PANTS! -being NICE to strangers, listening to old songs, well-worn lyrics, that old fashioned -I'm an old-fashioned man, a MANDARIN who outta wisdom; some dude who lived too long. I have no future, but I fear for YOURS! 

Your mirrors, deception, epiphanies, delusions-galore! Your kisses vanish in memory, past fornications, gone with the wind, station to station. With/without U, can U STICK it alone. Can U STICK the cold, can U STICK the rain, usurped by THINKING loss & yet even LESS gain; diamonds, gold, emeralds that dissolve in your hands, abstract thinking, inside what is rare?

"ALLORS!!!"...A Maestro without a song. A Mandarin outta Truth! -it beguiles. Can U carve your name with pride? And all the Truth we've yet to know, as kisses tomorrows on lips unseen;  A'la Chaucer: "Rest after toil. Port after storm, death after life, yet Inter-net porn, occasionally, doth greatly please." A Mandarin in our time. A Poet without a rhyme. And there IS or lies our MYSTERY to un-wind, but hopefully with warmth & a smile.

c.2036. Dave Delacroix.

Our man in Paradise, BERLIN< Dave Delacroix, "BERLIN/This Side of Paradise."

 Our Man in Europe, BERLIN, Dave Delacroix: "This side of Paradise."

...This side of PARADISE, once, this side of the Berlin Wall, we had NO rules, WEIRMAR-TOPLESS in City parks, thought nothing erotic, blondes singing sonorous military songs in Berlin's fracture, yesterday's ruins, post war generations anthems or a "Whiter shade of pale."

This side of Paradise, the WAR-won, yet now threatened, a new bloody "fun"; America, China, that Putin-Clown in Russia - invading Ukraine - a breadbasket for AFRICA & just what can he gain: A domestic "HUZZAH!", Cossacks-galore till he discovers now educated Cossacks gone to Paris...and fell in love with Peace?

This side of Paradise, that throw away "FURR-BALL" hat. Gorky Park. No-one's in a rush to get back. As ISLAM/MULLAHS brainwash 5 times a day, people's OWN sense of faith will go their own way; this side of Paradise, "in shah-Allah", my faith belongs to me...leastways, on this side of Paradise. Just when will these greed-tyrants just let people BE?

(Singing:) For SHAME, for Shame! These Jackels FIGHT & Name! For a House divided cannot stand.

c.2026. Dave Delacroix.,,,,, 

Our Man in Europe, now Belize, Dave Delacroix: "A Scoop of Youth/The Venus Flytrap!"

 Our Man in Europe, Dave Delacroix: "A Scoop of Youth." /"The VENUS Flytrap!"

...Enraptured, captured! Your juices at her command. No FIRE EXIT, no escape (WotchagonnaDO?). Paint her portrait or "postmortem" sculpture her likeness? Hauntings anew?

That Black Widow Spider, post-post intimacies where never ever-ever U can, can ever to begin; a deaths-head beetle skull engraved on your heart? Ambitious Genetics without a thought?

A Chrysalis, an evolving song to take U to Love's grave. A majestic SWIRL backpacked across the river Styx, to Hades, that dark Hotel California: YO! U can check out any time, but it never leaves U.

The Venus Flytrap, that succulent-verdant green with all its claw-spikes to pierce your loves eager blue-eyed greed & then to consume. Enraptured. Captured. Your juices at her command. That scoop of Youth.

c.2026. Dave Delacroix.

Our Man in Europe/now Belize/Dave Delacroix: "movies, "BULLIT" & "Catch-22!"

 Our Man in Europe/now Belize/Dave Delacroix: "2 Movies, "Bullitt" & "Catch-22!".

"BULLIT!"

...The Man in his "Mustang, inseparable don't need no GAL to hold his hand. "Bullitt", some Cop on a mission from God... dodging life's gunfire, nailing down his Job, an odyssey of sorts, a vindication of Thought in a Mustang, super-charged, an effect of Cause?

The Man in his Mustang, the man at the wheel, a crusader of justice, no fear, no deceit, nor pander nor glory, a renaissance man who drives like the wind, a solo plan.

The man in the Mustang, a cinematic music score, the twists & turns/Shakespearian-lore. A WHITE Stetson, BLACK for the bad guys, no matter which ways it works, "Bullitt" wins.

c.2026. Dave Delacroix. (Bullit-movie, directed by Peter Tates/starring Steve McQueen)

"CATCH-22!"

EUSABIAN-confused, WW2 bombing missions, flattening Italy, HISTORY! -killing civilians when U already got the Blues. Better U "fettucine-bomb" the fishes of the Sea; their farewell notes to wash later in the bay of Sorrento?

Eusebian-confused, perplexed when the General comes to his base along with his "aide du camp", legs up to her neck. (Groans-ensue!), And U ask: "the pathetic man, is this you?" Another generation, another WAR and the merchants of death salute your pathos. A Catch-22! The nature of War.

c.2026. Dave Delacroix. (Catch-22 -movie, directed by Mike Nichols/with Orson Wells)

Our Man in Europe/now Belize/Dave Delacroix: "Dead Man's Plaid.

Our Man in Europe/now Belize/Dave Delacroix: "Dead Man's Plaid."

 ...Once again, I forgot my computer Password. We Non-Techies R in a morass of Communion Hell. Damned Zippo lighters on the blink too. My "rollie" cigarette got a serious droop. Yet MEIN GOTT! it's not supposed to be like THIS....I envisaged a lonesome/dilapidated rooming house/toilet down the hall, predictable background, friendless to demise (for all my acknowledged Sins) haunted by past loves, sleepless nights, a lone trumpet on a rainy boulevard, no way to communicate, friends, loves, man or beast, yet somehow, as sometimes, the World's YEAST curdles. 

Once again, GOBSMACKED into Hell. A labyrinth of indecision. Where goes the ebbtide of my inner rage, that powerhouse upon which I depended, now saying: "Arrivederci!" leaving me at the gate of nowhere, Palookaville! ...No map, no compass, no astrolabe, no day or night, nor a SUIT of dead man's Plaid, just an array of fright, a Dante's inferno where, as I plunge downwards, I briefly shake hands with past buddies, budettes, the fools & the clowns who - naturally, as I spiral/one way street - glad-hand, wish me well & "if it comes out kosher" will always welcome me back and say: "Ce sera-sera!", my story, OUR story...life's shallow wishing Well.

c.2026. Dave Delacroix.

Our Man in Europe, now Belize, Dave Delacroix: "BELIZE after Ten p.m."

Our Man in Europe/now Belize/Dave Delacroix: "BELIZE after Ten p.m." 

...After TEN p.m./supposed to be quiet. Community rules. Kids asleep. That swimming pool mild. Palm trees ain't swaying. Local rowdies all a-bed. It might end up raining; the Cats quit their purring. Belize school kids' slumber/minds a-wondering whether the taught THREE "R's" (writing, reading, arithmetic) ever gonna make 'em RICH or at least a Hollywood star... 

After TEN, a motorcycle BARK, a Bartender checking out over on some street off the canal where neighbor's dogs fitfully sleep. And the birds in the tall pines, having previously, NOSILY-organized their tree- branch seating arrangements, semi slumber less an Iguana selects them for "petite desjunnez". (Fast food!) And all good maidens, good gentlemen too decide... tomorrow cannot come too soon. 

c.2026. dave delacroix.

Our Man in Europe, now Belize, Dave Delacroix: "The Nine Tailors."

 Our Man in Europe/now Belize/Dave Delacroix: "The Nine Tailors."

(dedicato: Anita Johnson)

"The Nine Tailors."

...I'm da GHOST that never came back, that SILVER in your SHEFFIELD-STEEL, the one U loved, U thought real; not the Gigolos who lined up outside your Stage door.

I'm the Mandarin, the MANDRAKE magician w/flapping cloak, a mask, an anonymity, a life-specter. A GHOST on da beat!

I'm the Ghost that never comes back, that switchblade-MURDER, that Un-resolved Love; uncanny-intrinsic, the bottom of the Well. (Lotsa wailing!)

The Nine Tailors/Church Bells ring on out. Three bells for the death of a Lady yet a soccer crowd ROARS! -Alas your Ghost disappears. Nine Tailors bells a-ringing. Ghosts-anonymous. That midnight hour. The Ghost U knew who never came back.

c.2026. dave delacroix.

Our Man in Europe/now Belize/Dave Delacroix: "Tom Sawyer!"

 Our Man in Europe/now Belize/Dave Delacroix (David Michael Oxley on Facebook): "TOM SAWYER!"

(dedicato: RUEBEN who like me made it to 70 years old.)

"Tom Sawyer!"

...Just a little bit Tom Sawyer, I hate to wash, rather swim in the Four Mile Lagoon/Belize with Dave Smith, a.k.a. "Huck Finn".

Just a little bit Tom Sawyer; cheat on my pals - U go paint the garden picket fence in exchange, my pet frog?

Just a "L'll" bit Tom Sawyer, a secret whisky "still" (Gurgle-bubble), nobody knows what Tom Sawyer knows. Esoteric? -unlikely.

Just a "L'll" bit Tom Sawyer, now an old man, a RIVERBOAT man, who these days navigates/fathoms the Mississippi depths, sandbanks & tides; "gimmie a fathom reading": MARK TWAIN!

c.2026. Dave Delacroix.

Our Man in Europe/now Belize, Dave Delacroix: "From the Mouths of Babes,"

Our Man in Europe, now Belize, Dave Delacroix: "From the mouths of Babes."

(dedicato: Danielle & Raechel/Aniello Family)

...The Mouth of Babes!

...From the mouths of Babes that PROFOUND, that kick U lost, before U RESOUND!?

 From the mouth of Babes, Peace -not WAR and all the slings/arrows U met before. From the mouths of Babes that equanimity, that UN-found land, a "Ponce de Lyon "wail.  the mystery of your Age, the fountain of eternal youth, a legend of yester-yore? The SMUCK U once were ...for a fool? (EL DORADO?) Or Coney Island?  Somebody else's gig?

From the DEAD mouths of Babes, gasping, NAZIS-Gas Chamber, showered to death, the MOUTHS of Babes still resonate in our Song; intrinsic, hollow ghosts, songs, gallows-burning from the Babes yet who still got a voice...with my mouth. You TOO if U can sing this song? A SHALLOM-forlorn. A Kibbutz somewhere, someplace. Less we forget. The Earth is hollow ground. Cyrus the Great died a long time ago.

From the mouths of Babes, Kids, misfits, skittle bodies who ran around/ PLAYED. Yet tomorrow's tyrants, tomorrow's SAINTS, tomorrow's-tomorrow, tomorrows fate. A twisting dyonic, a double-helix of greed, sometimes hate, that viral which absorbs/catches your make as the mouths of Babes to keep your keepsakes yet that Edga Allen Poe's "Tell Tale Heart "Will keep U awake. That turning of the screw. Dirt on dirt.

From the mouths of Babes. The mouths of Babes & ALL that is HOLY to EN-grace your place, residing as U are. Alive, U stake your claim...Fallible IS our Nature, ALACK-FALSTAFF!!! Put not your faith in Princes! The mouth of Babes to take U into adventure. What Song, what RING, what paradise or disaster.... From the mouths of Babes that PROFOUND, that kick U lost, before: U RESOUND!

c. 2026, dave delacroix.

Our Man in BLUE, Blue in Belize: "A patch of Blue."

 Our Man in Europe/now Belize: "A patch of Blue."

(dedicato: Carol Aniello.)

"A patch of Blue."

...A patch of blue in your night-zazz red shoes. A patch of blue NEON in your red dress. A patch of blue: YOU! -swirling in your light. A patch of blue for U tonight!

A patch of blue, it's true; your SONG! A patch of blue SWITCHED to hover. A patch of blue, kisses-true no-one can ever take away. Your patch of blue. Makes U you.

A patch of blue, no yellow, reds, purple or gauge. No insulation of what the World observes. A patch of blue, swirling within, perhaps to un-furl-dragonfly, wings demystified to confound a World that doesn't understand.

A patch of blue. The ME? Mostly you. WotchagonnaDO: Snake eyes! No-longer -"handbags at twenty paces" but survivors' tales, songs of the sea & all of the PEOPLE we ought to be. What DEVIL made U or ME, looking for peace of mind? (Whisky-galore!) or some such.

A patch of blue, a patch of blue, perhaps an ENVY deep within. Where death ends. Where life begins. A patch of blue. Wotcha-GOT. Look at your shoes. And YES, who devils with our minds, an "un-kind" to poke, or twist, the curse of regrets, "a le recherche du temps perdu", (spiteful?) yet a kind-a blue.

c.2026. Dave Delacroix. Our Man in Blue, Blue in Belize, in EUROPE, always Blue. KIDS R U?

Our Man in Europe, now Belize, Dave Delacroix: "Rhapsody".

Our Man in Europe, now Belize, Dave Delacroix: : "Rhapsody!"

 (SONG:) 'Ave U ever bin lonely, 'ave U ever bin blue, 'ave U ever bin star-cr0ssed, those kids in the dew? "Ave U ever bin NO-ONE, a file in the Time whence U knew no-one, no-one, a kiss for a mile?

 Have U ever been "desolate"-en francais, some cat outta sorts? Have U ever been lonely, that kid never sort. Stare your schoolyard NEMISIS, in the eye: "Back off or U'll know why!" A cold frontier, they know not why.

(They sense the ICEBERG in your lonely Soul.)

Did U ever have pigtails, boys pulled Em at will? Did U ever write Poetry, thru Ya will. Did U ever play Piano, alone at night. In that RAPHOSDY, some place U began...

c.2026. Dave Delacroix. 

Our Man in Europe/now Belize/Dave Delacroix: "The Lady in the Lake." (RUSALKA.)

 Our Man in Europe, now Belize, Dave Delacroix: "The Lady in the Lake." (Rusalka!)

CAN U SING ME YOUR tomorrow? Can U sing me your Blue? Can U sing me your regrets though they might be few. Can U sing me your triumphs, in the park, in the city, in the dark? Can U sing of the night-time when the dogs decide: "BARK!"? 

Yet a handsome Prince a-horse came prancing by?...

Can U sing me your ecstasy, a "needy" to please. An Adam/Eve, a place on a tree/with a snake, a 7 "easy-peasy" to please. Can U sing of your illusion, that Biblical We? The world in your pocket, that inner sneeze. 

Can U sing of tomorrow, that place in the sun. Can U RING or decipher, lost or torn. Can U sing of past glory, where do we begin? A Mermaid, a Prince entwined in the depths. A sacrifice of death.

Come sing me your tomorrow. Come bring me your heart. Come sing of tomorrow, UN-furl our today. the lady in the lake not long for this day.  we pine; we pine &...

...Can U sing me your tomorrow, a Debussy's" Clair de Lune", or Rusalka, composers Dvorak's fingers your notes. The kernel in your bud. Rusalka! That kernel in your fate. A handsome young Prince on a-horse came a-prancing by.

c.2026. dave delacroix.

Our Man in Europe, now Belize, Dave Delacroix: "East of Eden."

 Our Man in Europe/Now Belize/Dave Delacroix: "East of Eden."

...THE WAILING OF WOMEN, WITCHES/BANSHEES to stir your BREW: AVAST! AVAST! U demons, let an old Soul lie still, to crumble, smolder like an old cheese-decay, an "Eve of St. Agnes", a Keats' Ode, a worship forgotten, a Poet's workshop's grind.

The platitudes echo on a CONCERT-night when everyone hugs U but there's no EYES insight, only them/U, just heads with blank eyes that stare thru U but U never know why? DAH!? (Edvard Munch's painting: THE SCREAM!) And kisses beyond all promises true, the price of your fame, then kicked by the roadside, lame. What were their names? My name? Yours too. All yours. Mine! Were they blue?

East of Edan where U find your Blue. Bros. GRIMM, Hansel & Gretal, a paper trail in the forest, a "whoosits-boogaloo" to take U by the hand, a stranger's hand, sometimes to befriend. No G.P.S., no inner kisses. The crux of semantic-enraptured Soul just where U first found it...when U were once whole.

The wailing of Banshees, witches at your door and the songs U have known I wish to never hear no more.

c.2026. Dave Delacroix.

Our Man in Europe, now Belize, Dave Delacroix: "South of Capricorn."

 Our Man in Europe, now Belize, Dave Delacroix: "South of Capricorn."

THE DEVIL MAKES WORK outta idle hands & if that son-of-a-bitch with the LOUD lawnmower doesn't quit soon, we talkin' 'bout justifiable HOMICIDE!

It's always tough when U actually find your "feng-shui" (peace of mind) but ya can't blame some Cat, found a way - mowing grass/looks like shit/looks like its bin left out all night/needs a trim -to make a Buck - homicide-Insurance, nevertheless it's always on the backburner (my TRIGGER finger is itchy!). Maybe it's a dream retirement illusion/plan, palm trees, smooth sea, clement weather, no bugs, far from the madding crowd?

The Devil makes work outta 'retirees"- minds (called Dementia) plagued by a life times' haunting, that never-forgetting specter, PROMETHEUS unbound. Such a sucker to get tied up, pecked at by a "murder of Crows" in the first place as all Men DO, leastways on a Paris fling with a "floozie"/lost weekend. It may be a Marital Sin but it ain't no crime? Still. Gotta hurt?

The Devil, that inner JOY, that intrinsic sluice that never quite bleaches your conscience, and South of Capricorn where they say the - sink/toilet - CIRCLES "lefty", a Devils foot to keep U on your toes; like writer Henry Miller on tiptoe before he got a dose. WOTCHAGONNADO!? Nobody knows. Better your "dick" falls off AFTER U die. Hopefully not before...South of Capricorn.

c.2026. Dave Delacroix.

Our Man in Europe/now Belize, Dave Delacroix: "Super-Moon!"

 Our Man in Europe/now Belize/Dave Delacroix: "Super-Moon."

(dedicato: Carol Aniello)

When the Super-Moon is gone & U lost your Song & that longing feels like U don't belong, U can turn to Me.

When the tides gone out, your sailboat will never crest a wave, that kiss-a-wind, U can turn to Me.

When that silly-guile fails to smile, that Xmas tree fails to beguile? This time (betcha-boogie!) U can turn to Me.

c.2026. Dave Delacroix.

Our Man in Europe/now Belize: "Cosi Fan Tutti!" (Après' Mozart)

 Our Man in Europe, now Belize, Dave Delacroix: "Cosi Fan Tutti!" (Apres Mozart)

DON ALFONSO & DESPINA ARE not dead, they're just sleeping within your desires, your passions, occasionally making mischief as all our good DEMONS are tempted to do.

Don Alfonso & the maid, Despina, the servants of our Souls; there to stir the bouillabaisse, a plate or 2 for your guests, the ones U choose, an EGO'S curry, yet just where does it lead; no-one knows: Arias abound! 

Don Alfonso & Despina, an entwined super-spy, the James Bond TWINS, Shaken AND Stirred to Rock & Roll your "droll" which plagues your platitude, an Eagle in a Cage; what classic duo could ever restrain your rage or stem the tide, beach footprints U left behind?

Don Alfonso & Despina. STEREO! Ear to ear! Calculus! Shaving cream! Pasta sauce! Do we ever go shopping/get all we need? Milk. Eggs! CONDOMS!!!...We always rely on a pretty song? "Cosi fan tutti", our crazy GIG, along with Shakespeare's "Hamlet", sometimes Love's grave we dig.

c.2025. Dave Delacroix.

Our Man in Europe, now Belize, Dave Deacroix: "QUO VADIS!?" (Which way?)

 Our Man in Europe, now Belize, Dave Delacroix: "QUO VADIS?" (Which way?)

QUO VADIS!? CAN I GET U a Cheeseburger, a pit-stop, maybe some adult entertainment, leastways find some Sage to tell/sing a song of past Glories; my own Canvaserai, the camels R weary, I need a bath, U guys got a vacant room, taverna Via Alpina?

QUO VADIS? I may be arrogant, but I come from Damascus, DEATH never caught me there. There's a lot to be said for living out in the "boonies", no internet, no E-mail, no-one finds U there. The Devils Astrolabe is outta whack?

QUO VADIS? No G.P.S. No antique radar, old love letters neither received or sent, a dissolution of 'Affairs de Coeur', kisses unspent? Where do we un-wind when we're losing our mind, as love dissipates in the beer & the wine?

SINGING: "Solomon & Sheba we sing thru the night! Solomon & Sheba we sing thru the night! Queen Dido of Carthage was she just a Dyke! Cleopatra is dead, a Cobras bite! Tra-la-la!"

QUO VADIS? - A new day under the Sun, that longest night... never to find the dawn... in all its rapture, in all its bleak light; a Winters tale, a shadow's blight. I heard guys played FARO-4 days straight! Only a fool to ignore Love's might.

QUO VADIS? Any which way but loose, a Mandarins prophecy, a Rabbi's scroll. A Bhudia's mantra, a Viking Saga-chant, a Cheeseburger pit-stop, an eternal song. Is nothing wrong? Will it ever end? The genetic double-helix gone to whoosits? Hearts un-wound/always spaghetti?

QUO VADIS? QUO VADIS? I sing U a song. A repetition, a echelon that echoes ANON. Not belonging to ME nor unique to your Soul, the STUFF of existence, the kick to your goal. Quo Vadis, Saint Whoosits, a voice in HIS God-mind said QUO VADIS (turn around), went back to Rome...to martyrdom. 2,000 years later? We sing his song...

c.2026. dave delacroix.

Our Man in Europe. Dave Delacroix: "It's not Unusual.."

 Our Man in Europe, Dave Delacroix: "It's not Unusual."

IT'S NOT UNUSUAL TO GET STABBED in the back. a Borgia Prince ever ready. It's not unusual (your wife) to find lipstick on your collar. Where-a-way, a song in your heart & no money in your pocket?

It's not unusual, restless at night, haunted, doubtful dreams, NIGHTMARES, which scream: "BE-JEEZE!", ya gotta AWAKE and prowl the floor: No money in your pocket. (Bitch left me!)

It's not unusual to go ROAM THE WORLD to find the SELF OF U, never find (alas!) or wallow in some "self-divine" or rue the day U got a clue? (Even LESS money in your pocket) Outta Biscuits!!!

It's not unusual, any day, when U kissed goodbye to all U knew; ICARUS not with-standing, U flew too close to your own personal Sun... Aloe Vera/WAX WINGS/Max Factor cosmetics wears too thin!

...As wings dissolve, a silent fall, musical chairs, when the song ends, a throne/high table or a stool below the salt. (She'll never come back) It's not unusual to get stabbed in the back, that Borgia Prince in the mirror.

c.2026. Dave Delacroix.

Our Man in Europe/now Belize/Dave Delacroix: "NO WORRIES!!!"

 Our Man in Europe, now Belize, Dave Delacroix: "No Worries!"

(dedicato: Lady Caroline Aniello)

NO WORRIES! ALL WE DID was scratch on the universal chrome, a kiss blown in the wind, a situ. beyond tragic comedy, perhaps the Gods chuckled, exchanged heavenly Bitcoin for a Dime?

No worries; a lack of ZEN (Yen?), that "Yin-Yang"-Pheng-Shui, the peoples "groovy Tuesday", an antiseptic for your Soul, an Aloe Vera for your sunburn?

No worries. Battles lost? Does it matter when U meet your MAKER, CONFESS, I was a "Toss!" -Jesus don't mind, least U gave it a try, eggs broken/omelet-made, some bouillabaisse?

 -like too much water in your Scotch whisky, something to ruin your day, that thing with every yesterday we all throw away.

c.2026. Dave Delacroix. Happy New Year Kids.