After the Wake

Yellow wallpaper  
peels 
behind faded pictures 
in dusty frames,  
falling to the floor  
in ashen drifts—ephemeral— 
of births and wakes, 
stabbing  
to the heart 
like first kisses 
or cold sips  
of Orange Crush 
but dulled 
from memory  
(and time) 
like giftless Christmases  
and old calico,  
drying on the line. 
What ghosts roam these halls, 
haunting bowls
of waxed fruit
and glass doorknobs,  
lingering ‘round chicken coops,  
dust bunnies, 
and jelly jar glasses 
like palls 
or the bitter of burnt almonds. 
As a pale pink echo 
of rose 
peeks through the air’s must,  
a voice whispers, “Remember this. Now,” 
leaving me to chuckle and smile. 

How silly it is to mourn life as we live it.

***

(originally published at The Gorko Gazette)

House of Fleeing Winds

I am the crippled saint rapping at the door 
of forgiveness, creaky oiless springs
a house of fleeing winds
thoughts darting across a sea of wanton olive skin night

I am the storm rattling iron door handles
stone churches dangling over faded waters, orphaned rains
dark seaport nights
young wives of the sailorhood praying for good to come 
no widow’s hand to touch
the merry band shoves out to Brittany wine darkness 

I am the star of storms
whipping brewed mists
and mandolin ash bone trysts
sunrise-blue groans 

I am the nail in my hop-along cassidy coffin
pining lust busted caverns
in a torrent of rain on dream street

born backwards my dice tumbling rocky roads
eternally awkward in the hall of cracked-eye perfection

zen-headed dottard riding a youth dew vapor throne 
in a dime dance parade 
oopa oopa cops with maiden-bated breath 
hangovers hanging on a thread of orderly 

In a nightmare I saw a
warrior of yore darning obedience stockings
Redyard Rudyard cries
‘An’ you’ll lick the bloomin’ boots of ’im that’s got it’. 

St Vitus does the jerk over red hot coals
as the earth hums a dirge in the key of catastrophe
the kids chanting Runaway

I saw God
he looked me in the eye from a soft orange cloud 
whizzing over rumble town
I am the star of storms escorting you through 
red-light servitudes
scorned devil moons, brooding mama’s

lady peppermint fondling the jade egg of Napoleon’s daydream 
the messianic bus driver honking with his tin-horn hat
better climb aboard. or run for your life
fast

My Troubled Brain

The doctors thought the solution
To my problems was just a matter
Of splitting my troubled brain.
But that only doubled my anxiety.
Now there’re two moody Jekylls.
One says white, the other black.
Angry words, endless arguments,
One hand gouging at my eyes,
While the other hand chokes me.
Enough!  I put a pistol to my head.
They wrestle over which half will
Get splattered across the room.
Escape is the only remedy and
I’m ready to board the plane but,
Damn it!  My ticket’s for the bus.

Drugs And The Woman

This is a story about drugs and the woman
in my cold midnight room

I think about the one I loved
she was fair she was clean

Every day had a bright tomorrow
but the spiders have their way

And the hangman has a schedule
tik tock and time ran out

But she left me bereft of me
The man had better game, was I to blame – no

8 balls and dime bags
fentanyl and pipes of Pan crack

The way to a woman’s heart is through her vices

She ran with the pipe ran with the smoke
slithered through the powder
CAN I SAY IT ANY LOUDER?

She bought it all, man
the dealer’s promise
the pimp hand
she belonged to the street
she was in the life
drowned in the pipeline

Bloody arms and bloody nose
Where have you been and where are you going?

Empty bed blues
he was at the White Horse Saloon

Sunset and Western
I had my gun all ready

He was lounging in the booth
All his boys were sucking up vermouth

When they saw me they all laughed
I heard them speak but I didn’t hear a word

My head was pounding and I reached into my jacket
Blew two rounds into his head then ran out the back

Lost the jacket ditched the heat
saw an old, familiar face standing on the street

just a little truth

the dog days of summer

all the pretty women 
have moved on

even the gypsies turn 
away and laugh

remember when you 
wanted to be a vampire
and live forever

someone spiked the punch 
again

three chords and just 
a little truth

find a singer and you too 
can get fucked in hollywood

she laughed when 
i said i love you

not exactly the confidence 
boost needed for a lonely 
soul

fireworks in the distance

nothing but cold shoulders
inside these walls

tomorrow never comes
and we’re low on ice

she wonders aloud about 
insanity

hold my beer

time to shoot down the 
sun once again

I Thought I Was Ready

I thought I was ready.  Clothes flung off.
Richard hard as rock in flagpole mode.
A wild woman grabs my tool and drags me
Across the room pushing me onto the bed.
She quickly introduces my peter to her snatch
Immediately getting into humpin’ and suckin’.
All those piercings and the nose ring, with
Armpits full of flowing yellow blond hair,
Definitely accented her stylish Mohawk do.
What was going to be a quickie lasted all night.
Sweet Jesus, I’d been done.  Satisfied and tired.
I didn’t even mind the new tattoo she gave me.
But I’m ready to get dressed and wander home
If someone would untie me from this bed.

my first book signing 

starving… rummaging around… i mustered up a mcketchup packet… rip the top off… imagine it’s a chick… put it in my mouth n suck… n fuck yea…

ima relish this

i do another line of crushed up adderall
inside my car that i’m livin in,
outside the library

ssnniiff

i look at my face in the rear view mirror, and laugh

( i am so depressed ) 

windows rolled down, it’s hot 

i watch a guy and girl passing by 

he’s tall, buff, mean looking

gurl sees me

gets excited

(??)

says, shrieking

“ARE YOU JOHNNY SCARLOTTI?!?!”

“um, sadly, yeah”

she jumps up and down

comes over
the guy follows, looks annoyed

“pardon the whip, 
rari is in the shop”, i joke 

guy looks upset 

she grabs one of my books (!!) from her bag
says “can you sign this for me?”

“sure” i grab the pen from her
“your name?”

“Naomi” she says, handing me the book

it’s all beat up
suffered a lot of water damage
i can’t help it
i make a joke
“did you get pussy juice all over this or wut”

guy looks mad
he puts his arm around her like she is his property
like he’s scared of me stealing his mcchicken

“relax, i’m not gunna take ur mcchicken”, i say 

“what?” he says like a bitch

i say back to him
“shut up bitch”

oops, haha, i shouldn’t have said that, 
i donno wuts gotten into me lately, 
this guy could easily kick my ass 

he says
“the fuck did you just say, faggot? reaching back like he’s going to hit me thru my open window 

oh shit, what do i do

“get out of the car!” he grabs my car and shakes it 

“what!” he screams 

he elbows my side mirror, snapping it off  

the girl says “chill chazz!!” 

“you’re real tough” i tell him 

he circles around my car, spits on my back window  

“fight me”, he begs

“no…”

oh yyeahh

i pull out my new pistol

(a reeal sexy model
best rated for blowing your brains out)

guy gasps, puts his hands up
“woah buddy, u win” he says, stepping back
“please don’t shoot. please”

i don’t really know what to do next …

“BANG!” i scream and he dives to the ground

i give the girl the book n pen back 

“sorry about that” i say

starting my engine 

girl says “wait, can i come with you? he’s not my boyfriend”

guy’s back on his feet “what, i thought we were together” ,“babe”, he pleads

“no, you’re a stupid asshole” she says

i open the passenger door for her

she hops in

i point the gun at the guy again

“BANG!”

he falls to his knees, like he’s just been shot

a dark stain grows out of his crotch. it looks like blood but it’s probably just piss…

and we leave.

guns are pretty cool

/i look her up and down, 
damn, i’m in the mood for a mcchicken

/pardon my outfit, i tell her.
it’s laundry day, i lie

The Taker, The Rainmaker  

It takes more than just wild-eyed
courage.
It takes a tightrope walker’s balance. 
It takes the nerve of a canal
horse. 

It takes a knife to the laws of physics.

It takes your hair, 
your teeth, 
your youth.
It takes the delusion 
of hope. It takes all your illusions.
It makes 
you wear the mask of a clown
the hide of an alligator, 
your shoes
on the wrong feet and your toupee
backwards. 

Then it puts your mind in total black sun  
darkness.
Then it comes for your name, 
your ego,
your identity, 
your convictions. 

It takes them all and keeps taking, 
and keeps taking
and keeps taking

till there’s nothing
on the bone. Then it takes
the bone.

Ste. Fabulist of Venice Beach

She sips the warm nectar of bee pollen combined with tinctures of turmeric and psilocybin

She speaks 8-10 languages fluently, including ASL, Braille and dolphin sonar

She consumes more food than an army of renegade hysterics and yet retains the figure of Karen Carpenter

Along with a family of opossums she squats in a den wallpapered with aluminum foil

While picking corn poppies as a child in the Lower Silesia Voivodship near Warsaw, Poland, she’s exposed to Agent Orange, which explains the Spock-like uplift of her eyebrows

Her busy schedule includes a Wednesday mid-morning chat with Elon Musk to discuss plans for a trip to Ancient Rome in a time machine currently being manufactured at NASA headquarters in Cape Canaveral

To save the trees she wipes her ass with pomegranate leaves

Pepper-sprayed in the pussy by a Latina murderess in the laundry room at CRDF Los Angeles, she commences to wash her private parts with lactate milked from a Madagascan monkey

Using an iPhone 14 to photograph her freshly-shaved vagina, she in turn uploads the image to social media, resulting in multiple cases of mass gender dysphoria

She practices kundalini yoga with the venerated actress Demi Moore, who, according to sources in the know, once had a menage-a-trois with Patrick Swayze and Whoopi Goldberg on the set of the movie Ghost

She uses chopsticks inlaid with mother-of-pearl to pluck stray hair follicles from her nostrils

She professes to having engaged in unsolicited sexual acts with her father, her twin brother, 5 of her uncles and too many nephews to count (there may even be a niece or 2 in the mix)

An eidetic memory equips her with the ability to quote Shakespeare at length and recite the theorems of Pythagorus simultaneously

Her fundamental goal in professional life is to act as a direct liaison between the East Coast Sicilian Mafia and the CIA

She massages her feet with the sperm of Beluga whales imported directly from the Gulf of St Laurence in Quebec, Canada

While incarcerated at CCWF Chowchilla she boasts of baking a fruitcake in a toilet bowl from fermented orange peels and frosted with rectal mucus from her own personal cache

It is a blessing to be graced with her presence, amen

The Zombies are Loose

Just woke up from a nightmare
feeling nostalgic
I miss the old bars, the shit-talking;
a guy ranting that he could beat me

at a game of pool, or anything
at all,
a gal trying to get under my skin
by giving me the stink eye while
whispering
or by tossing me her sympathetic
suckass-smile
Barflys used to rumble with grit
and now we have 
Tip-toe Joe 

You are fading from my memory now
I’ve commanded this, yes
And that very day, I ripped up and deleted 
any trail of you that could lead me back,
because that version of you didn’t really 
exist and I knew it

I’m impulsive- I love it; 
You love it, Fuck You,
You know you love it

But I’m reminded of you, those
nightmare nights and I wish
I had kept just one picture
Because I miss playing darts
I can’t even refresh my memory
as you’re a ghost online 
and don’t have any social media,
as yourself –
King of the cowards

Cowards have no place here
anymore, show yourself!
Show up! For fuck’s sake,

the zombies are loose.