On the passing of David Jones 10/01/2016
from tall skinny buildings of my past
I'll smoke for him and time now gone.
Of creatures girl, of creatures boy,
of Rock and Roll, of madness real,
and drugs enjoyed.
The hand that wrote, till strength no more,
dropped weak, translucent, to the floor.
His characters stand, heads bowed, as puppets canned.
They mouth their songs, all bands disband.
The man has gone, the songs remain, give sorrow thick with
The boy from Brixton, now dead and gone, Manhatten apartment,
his sepulchers song.
Let us drink to that, and the passing time.
Peace and Hope