Our Man in Europe, dave delacroix... Port after Storm.

Our Man in Europe, dave Delacroix...PORT after STORM.


*dedicato Bamba, Chris Conroy, from Ireland, County Clare.


Port after storm, rest after toil, death after life... doth greatly please. When the Guinness ran out, nothing left to Smoke, no Belladonna in sight I SCREAM or crack a joke! And all our yesterdays lead to dusty death, no Bus, no Taxi, no Helicopter, no Limousine, nor the need to tip the pilot, driver, chauffeur. And no coin for the Ferryman, the latter bastards have been cleaning up far too long! I want them hung!!! Whilst the BEREATHED, busted out of Destiny, constantly defecating into a BLANK Utopia. Unkissed, Unloved, Uncaressed in an Entwined bitter twilight< for HERE lies So and  SO, pissed off a few, maybe MANY. Drank himself to death! Hung on till the LAST like a Miser! And then became a tarnished Angel. They BURIED his ass in North London's Highgate Cemetery twixt Karl Marx-s tomb and Susan Bonner's happy grave site. Seemingly, like SOMETHING, happy, gay, like the 1960s...
And port after storm, rest after toil, death after life, CHAUCER says, doth greatly please.
YO! Pass the bloody PORT!!!!


c2018,davedelacroix,sciacca,sicily.