Our Man in Europe, dave delacroix....Quartet Spleen.

Our Man in Europe, dave Delacroix...Quartet Spleen.


1.....

KILLER DOG on your trail. USURPED
your mental wail
it wails, and it wails, and it wails,
Since WAX was Chief of Police!

Dead Souls! Dead, quite, Cadaver, NO WITNESS
for the Lady.....in the Lake.

And SO it comes around
a sweet mistletoe,
a Day in the Sun
but everyone gets to KNOW

Yucca-cactus, bleeding blood
and all the things
under Chevrolet hood,
humming. cussing, spitting,
Detroit's finest!
A Conscience that never goes away...
And when it COMES
to kissing
Lord knows I should know better!


2...…..

Canzone

Don't GIVE your Patina away
Bela Senorita
Let the Bravoes SWEAT
give U a ring, pluck a Guitar,
a canzone Romantica….

Don't give your Virtue away
sweet Bela, its all in the game
for that one Bravoes fame,
who-ll leave U in shame,
less your Pappa,
your fratelloes ...go to Jail.

Don't give your Love away,
Il Caro, ALOOF, in a flight,
a dance, a canzone, a
tapestry MAMBO!....

ALLEURI! Yet some, decades, long distant night,
OLD and STANCO
you will RUE the day U CLOSED
favours Door
and said, ASPERTO, DOMANI
BRAVO SIGNORE....!!!

For NOW,
LIFE'S A BITCH!
No-one comes, lightly tapping
at your door,
a Passion-Interest
gone for ever-more.

Dont give your Love, mi Amica
un-less it-s DOMANI you see.


3...…


California, Topanga Canyon, Gold-digger Bela's!

Bela's in da desert! Bela's in da Canyon!
 California, time and space,
 NOW....OLD, BEAD, LADIES
with whithering Bourbon, Whisky wiles, a broken Guitar belonging to some HAS-BEEN they once invested their Heart, like a gathering of MISS HAVERSHAMS...Dickens....looking for a PIP with Great California Expectations...How SWEET Life-s Rivers run.

Bela's on the PRAIRIES who-ll knit your brow, organize a DOOM, come too soon, kiss your sweet Youth, whistle, uncannily, like a forgotten tune, INVIOLATE, yet THEIRS, like black widow spiders, apres, consumption,
not sure. EAT U
...or let U prevail.
 Oh yes. Such creatures scamper around loneliness.
Their MEAT
….. is the forlorn.

Bela's in the City, PERFUME, HIGH-HAT and Click-heels, a smatter of DIATRIBE
beyond your comprehension.
Its ONLY the Fashion-ista-BROKEN
in search of GOD, or Love, or Perfection....
I wash my abundant long, Anglo-Saxon hair every 2 days. The REST of me is decaying.
For LOVE... I am in despair.


4.....

UNDER THE RADAR, my Gal got my NUMBER, jeez don't I ever get to MASTURBATE on a Wednesday afternoon....in Private!
U, Yes U!!! U don't KNOW the meaning of HEART BREAK, too late for TERROR when your fellow CAMBRIDGE FELLOWS find out U AIN'T GAY....!!! WOTS WONG WIV DIS HUOMO! -said with a lisp.

UNDER DA MOONBEAMS, guilty of POETRY, tried to HIDE IT under somebody Else's pillow punting on the god damn river, trying NOT to look too POET-SWINBURNE, too dreamy, yet bumming money for a drink, or stealing a bus, double-Decker ride, what-s to become of MIO, Post-Grad style...

UNDER THE COLLEGE TOWERS of ILLITERACY, those glittering Prizes, not for Me. BADDA-BING! BADDA-BOOM!....I boogied lonely as a cloud.

UNDER THE RADAR, my Gal ditched me. She joined the Commies or the Drama Society. Said she wanted to be Free. Somehow, it all works out. I quit my Studies, moved up North to the Derby shire Dales. Got a job as a Farm Labourer…. Under the Radar.



c2018,davedelacroix,sciacca,sicily.