Death On The Sidewalk (1993)

1 am, West Hollywood


I cannot do justice, I know, to your passing.
It hurts crazily, to think, you are suddenly gone.
What? Dead – one so joyously alive, intriguing!
When beauty’s gone; dead on a bed of stone.

I think of your blonde head, yes, that fringe falling.
It seems completely, vainly insane, you should slip away.
Where? Gone – once glittering, burning, brightly blazing!
Where few trails have ever shone, melt and decay.

I miss the thought, the hope, I should see you again.
It stings wryly, that fact, your unfulfilled promises.
How? Done – your laughing eyes, thin lips stain
How handsomely adorned; a vision which fades, blurs.

I have long kept you in my heart, a niché in a wall of stone.
It moans of empty, ruined by an absent prospect of you.
Who? You – your youth, an autumn-spring, thrown
Who have taken flight of the earth, the River who flew…



30 October 1993
While at Surfers’ Paradise, Queensland