Elegy for D.B.
Goodbye, Mr. Jones
composed not of mere stardust
but Little Richard, Eric Dolphy
experimental methodology
of a cosmonaut who found himself adrift in outer space
Ta-ta, Americana
flashy psychedelic folk
polished pristine posh and perfect by
the British monarch’s hands
Union Jack tied tight around the Martian DNA
Farewell, albino royal
cocaine white and emblematic
onyx eyes as sharp as eagles’
driven deep in drugged delusions
dream of Nietzsche realized fully in fantastic Weimar fashion
Auf Wiedersehen, Berliner
grey, invisible and cryptic
breathing in the Alpine air
bearing witness to the barrier
gorged on Autobahn and big green worlds and minimal expression
Sayonara, somber clown
whitewashed pessimistic fool
chasing Columbine forever
donning garments of a jester, spectral
sleek persona captured, shackled to the camera lens
So long, entertainer
singer, writer, well-heeled dancer
spinning round the record player
expedited to the acme
crying like Las Vegas victors with the call of falling quarters
See ya later, metal banger
detective born in future-noir
Earthling draped in ragged glory
terrified of New York City, California, Mississippi
content to pass away the hours at the sweet millennium’s close
Au revoir, you classicist
returning to your early passions
breadth of pallet broadened by
experience, by life explored, by wisdom gained
the silver crown of age has graced your heart, but not your head
Thank you, collapsing star
swan song blown, the sound of jazz
the cosmonaut set free from lunar pull
no expletives disguised beneath the censored thumb of grawlix
no chance, no time to gather up our words and say goodbye
“Goodbye”

















