ABOVE DAM SQUARE

Above the heroin and the whores, the sex shops
and the Van Goghs, 
we float high atop a Ferris wheel

on brilliant waves of pink, blue and neon orange; 
and breathless 

we hover there, rising, but longing to descend.

TOO LONG IN THE WIND

When I open the book of my failures, 

I know that I have lived too long with my secrets, 

with words that no one else ever hears, 

and I’m left with a longing 

and a kind of emptiness seemingly as big 

and blank as the space between the stars.

BLACK COAT & TAILS

Like a magician, he's up to his old tricks.
Another show, another fix.
His heart's in a box
bound by a thousand and one locks.
His world is whirling and about to tilt.
The knives are in all the way to the hilt.
He'd let them go but he doesn't know how.
If looks could kill, he'd be a ghost by now...

From the shadows, he calls out your name.
Just one shot and you're back in the game.
Your heart's in a box
bound by a thousand and one locks.
Your world is whirling and about to tilt.
The knives are in all the way to the hilt.
You'd let them go but you don't know how.
If looks could kill, you'd be a ghost by now...

True story of an incident near Chateau de Vincennes with the daughter of a Chinese opera star

She hovered around me for hours in the rain
talking about heaven and God 

and apparitions and signs; and after that, 
she took off her wet, black stockings 

in the bathroom of a café and then reappeared
without them as if no one would ever notice.

A Note on Bob Dylan's Birthday

Bob Dylan's brother, David Zimmerman, taught the children in my neighborhood how to sing! He was the music teacher at Sunny Hollow Elementary in New Hope, Minnesota. It is well known now that David Zimmerman contributed to the re-recording of Blood on the Tracks in Minneapolis (Christmas of 74).

Bob apparently spent some time with his brother at the grade school. After David Zimmerman worked with Bob on the album he decided to leave teaching. With Bob in tow, Mr Zimmerman visited all his students, all of the classes. During a question & answer session, my brother Rob (age 7) asked this unknown visitor if he knew of the poet Billy L (my middle name is James). Bob said no but that he would have to check this "poet" out. I did not know about this conversation until later (my brother, after all, was 7 & really had no idea how famous Bob was; I was 17). When I heard the story a few weeks later, I was thrilled.

At 19, I studied for a semester in Rome, Italy on the University of Dallas campus. There was a copy of Blood on the Tracks where I stayed. I listened to that album every day, over & over again. What an education: The Confessions of Saint Augustine, The Sistine Chapel, Agamemnon's tomb in Greece, the Louvre in Paris (Leonardo, Botticelli, Giotto), Sophocles & Bob Dylan.

Happy birthday Bob!

For Bob Dylan

He sang a tune or two in a one man band
then hopped a train to a distant and nameless land.
And in a boxcar he heard someone say,
'You can't take back what you never gave away'.

There are rumors of war; there are holes in the sky.
The dead line the roads but no one hears them cry.
The living are throwing stones into an empty well.
Their houses are bare; they have nothing left to sell.

I hum along to a song that I know and understand
as I trudge toward that distant and nameless land.
And in the darkness I hear someone say,
'You can't take back what you never gave away'.

THE BURIAL OF OSAMA BIN LADEN AT SEA

Wrapped in a shroud, his eyes blotted out,
he can no longer 
read from the book of war.
His mouth opens to an ocean of darkness 
but makes no sound. 

His hands are empty. They hold no stars. 
The heavens have been effaced.
There is no way to chart a course.
There is no moon to push in the tides,
no wind to carry him home.

A MASKED MAN

On top a white stallion the Lone Ranger descends;
a masked man, debilitated and unrehearsed.

What is it that I want to say but ultimately cannot say?
I have become nothing,

a ghost deprogrammed and on parole.
I walk out into the shadows of televised snow,

televised desolation, blue trauma by a descending sky,
man of blankness, man of sighs.

He Took the Head Shot that Killed JFK

He wasn't like the other boys;
he played with ICBMs instead of tinker toys.
But no one made too much of a fuss.
No, no one made too much of a fuss.
After all, he was one of us.
After all, he was one of us.


When he peddled an unwinnable war 
amongst the Joint Chiefs and the Marine Corps,
no one made too much of a fuss.
No, no one made too much of a fuss.
After all, he was one of us.
After all, he was one of us.


When some were heard to say
that he took the head shot that killed JFK,
no one made too much of a fuss.
No, no one made too much of a fuss.
After all, he was one of us. 
After all, he was one of us. 



The painting showing the arrival of JFK at Parkland hospital, Pietà, was done by Mark Balma (an old & dear friend).

THERE ARE NO HEROES HERE

(for Cindy Sheehan)

We are going nowhere now
in a house that has no doors or windows.

It is just a place to sleep.
There are no heroes here only mothers

and fathers calling out to children
who will never come home again.

But why try to speak of this?
It is like throwing ashes into the wind.

We are going nowhere now
in a house that has no doors or windows.

The Facebook Song

I saw your photo on facebook the other day.
I had to take a look what can I say?
By now, I thought we would be flying in cars
with nothing left to do but follow the stars.
Yes I thought of you the other day.
If I saw you what would I say?
By now, I thought we would be flying in cars
with nothing left to do but play our guitars.
I sent you a instant message the other day.
No response. I guess you were away.
Funny by now, I thought we would be flying in cars
with nothing left to do but follow the stars.
Funny, I thought we would be flying in cars
but our maps are out of date and we've lost the stars...

I COULD FLY A PLANE

She only spoke when we were alone;
and like a statue on a pedestal of stone,
she held a secret and would not let go.

One night I dreamt I saw her cloaked in a purple hood,
her hands clutching a cross made of wood.
I heard her whimper. I heard her sigh,

and then I heard her say goodbye.
I could sail the ocean.
I could ride the waves and the foam

(head in hand and with my eyes wide open).
I could wander the planet. I could fly a plane.
But I will never find my way back to her again.

CHAMPS ELYSEES

I watch as a man in a wheelchair 
faces the grand
and towering arch and takes a photo of his family,

a boy and a girl 
and his beautiful wife.
So grateful and so happy, the man begins to cry.

Black Coat & Tails

Like a magician, he's up to his old tricks,
another show, another fix.
His heart's in a box
bound by a thousand and one locks.
His world is whirling and about to tilt.
The knives are in all the way to the hilt.
He'd let them go but he doesn't know how.
If looks could kill, he'd be a ghost by now...

From the shadows, he calls out your name.
Just one shot and you're back in the game.
Your heart's in a box
bound by a thousand and one locks.
Your world is whirling and about to tilt.
The knives are in all the way to the hilt.
You'd let them go but you don't know how.
If looks could kill, you'd be a ghost by now...

2 poems from September 11, 2001

9/11

and now, a second and improbable plane,

a blip on FAA radar, United Flight 175,

approaches and then plunges into the south tower

of the World Trade Center, igniting into orange and red flames

while bodies fall and then tumble like stunt doubles

into the empty but televised air.

THE MISSING

An egret whirls into the wind,

and then turns and folds in upon itself and lands

beneath a cloud of water;

while in the distance,

airplanes at the edge of thunder

murmur and echo

like the thin mirrors of the ego,

glittering and lost, and I shudder

in the dark and consider

the dead (and all of their voices),

an unwavering remembrance,

a delicate descent.

THEY'RE HOLDING JESUS IN GUANTANAMO BAY

Snow White performs miracles most every night.

She counts the cash, then begins to pray.

What would the Founding Fathers say?

They're holding Jesus in Guantanamo Bay.

There'll be no trial. 
The CIA has lost his file.

George Washington had wooden teeth.

He was our first Commander in Chief.

They're holding Jesus in Guantanamo Bay.

There'll be no trial. 
The CIA has lost his file.

Snow White pedals porn on channel five.

She takes the cash, before the ratings dive.

They're holding Jesus in Guantanamo Bay.

There'll be no trial. 

The CIA has lost his file.

Snow White performs miracles most every night.

She counts the cash, then she begins to sway.

They're holding Jesus in Guantanamo Bay.

There'll be no trial. 
The CIA lost the file.

RUMORS OF WAR

He sang a tune or two in a one man band
then hopped a train to a distant and nameless land.
He sang a tune or two in a one man band
then hopped a train to a distant and nameless land.
And in a boxcar he heard someone say,
'You can't take back what you never gave away'.


There are rumors of war; there are holes in the sky.
The dead line the roads but no one hears them cry.
There are rumors of war; there are holes in the sky.
The dead line the roads but no one hears them cry.
The living are throwing stones into an empty well.
Their houses are bare; they have nothing left to sell.
The living are throwing stones into an empty well.
Their houses are bare; they have nothing left to sell.


I hum along to a song that I know and understand
as I trudge toward that distant and nameless land.
I hum along to a song that I know and understand
as I trudge toward that distant and nameless land.
And in the darkness I hear someone say,
'You can't take back what you never gave away'.
And in the darkness I hear someone say,
'You can't take back what you never gave away'.

THE MAN ON THE BLUE HORSE

After a walk in the park, 
we came to a place

of monuments and statues 
and the tombstone 
of a man on a blue horse; 
and in the dark 
she took me aside and asked me 

to call her later. 
But when I did she 
pretended to be 
someone else, 
as if I ever knew 
who she was 
or what it was she wanted.

WARHOL AT THE FACTORY

Warhol At The Factory

He walks on water, he floats across the room
On the wall, his paint by number flowers bloom
 

He's one part pornographer, two parts whore
(Billy Name hands out masks at the door )
 

Over there is a portrait of Chairman Mao
Hung next to a silkscreen of a floating cow
 

To the left are studies of Marilyn Monroe
And several images of Jackie O
 

A doctor makes his rounds
Brando and Elvis have lost a few pounds
 

Batman has somehow misplaced his cape
Ultra Violet accuses him of rape
 

They walk on water; they float across the room
On the wall, the paint by number flowers bloom

This track is embedded with the friendly permission by the creatives on wikiloops.com.

WHITE ORCHIDS & DEATH

After watching a movie 
about a woman 
in a sanitarium 
obsessed with white orchids 
and death, 
I think about the girl 
at the pool and all that she said. 

She spoke about her father 
lost in the mountains of Wyoming, 
wandering beneath 
white peaks of heavenly snow; 
and she spoke of her two sisters, 
and her mother 
and all of her love.

THAT INVISIBLE COUNTRY

This is not the end of the old world,
disfigured and gray and lost in the clouds.
Rather this is something entirely different.

This is not like the world at all with its scorecard 

of wins and losses,
its long list of words and wars.

So come and float with me and breathe this cool air.

There is no need to hurry.
There is no one waiting for us anymore.