Our Man in Europe/dave delacroix/ "Songs of the Dead."

Our Man in Europe/dave delacroix/ "Songs of the Dead."



(dedicato: Stephen Rendall, my Kerouac, and his Mom, bella Joanie.)



Songs of the Dead ringing in our ears, singing a Song that We cannot erase? Anthems of Culture within-which, their rise and their fall, known so well  to Granny's, Mama's, Papa's, one and All...in their Time? Sung by a Heroine, a VOICE, Maria Callas! (A Ghost?), CARUSO! And for your Soul; a CHANT, a poem, a chorus, a name, carved with pride, a benevolent scar upon your heart?

Songs of the Dead, ringing in our ears, now, in collective despair of those living, Ourselves, our future, where Angels confer with Attorneys, doubtful, and  fear to tread?

Songs of the Dead, ringing in our Memory, singing a song that we cannot erase? Where Angels Tap-dance and where All our dusty yesterdays end: Songs of the Dead: "Mary-Lou -GOT/Shot her Man!?"

Who, amongst the Order of the Angels would/can hear me? Poppies, row on row: a multitude of graves? WHO, or what SCREAM can perceive me or be HEARD by a Stranger who perhaps, might Salute on passing by my resting place, and "Go tell the Spartans!", tell my tale? Or YOURS!?

Songs of the Dead, keeping on ringing, sang, and sung whilst the Living hurtle forward to a perfect symmetry, writing Songs... into that oblivion, or that eternity which rests within our souls?  "U got my Numba!?"

("I met mah Million-dollar-babee at dah Five & Dime!/There'll be blue-birds over da White cliffs of dover....")

Songs of the Dead; songs of the Dead, unlike your Creators, please do not R.I.P.....



c2017/davedelacroix/LORD BORGO Esq./Sciacca-Sicily.