joe the jolly bartender

joe the jolly bartender always had a smile he was a solid sender and everybody liked his style no poor sap was so down and out and so desperately blue that joe wouldn't give him a happy shout from across the avenue when joe was working nights at tony's bar and grill it was always a pleasant sight to see him pouring those drinks with a will those innocent and good of heart and not inclined to scowl and hiss accepted joe as he played his part never suspecting something amiss * but those of more skeptical mien saw something beneath the sheen of joe's ever present bonhomie and impervious sanguinity beyond where the neon sign shone and the memories of those it shone upon did anyone really know where he went when he wasn't being joe? a suspicious fellow named tate decided to investigate tate had dreamed of being a detective but reality had been more selective and dealt him an everyday fate a job unpacking and packing crates at a well known hardware store whose sway extended from shore to shore his motive he never professed it might have been sheer orneriness but he got it into his dome that he would follow joe home the opportunity came so without second thought or shame on a desolate windswept night he kept the outward bound joe in sight it proved easy to keep on joe's track he never seemed to look back but proceeded at a steady pace with no particular style or grace the streets fell away like leaves and tate began to believe that perhaps he was wasting his time and his suspicions were not worth a dime joe suddenly was not there tate had no time to stop and stare but hastened to the spot where his last glimpse of joe he had caught a window covered with soap held a sign saying "never lose hope" this cryptic exhortation produced a curious desolation in the consciousness of poor tate to its message he could not relate but of something it seemed to remind him and then he heard a voice behind him - no one could remember when or if they ever saw tate again he became one of those, i fear whose fate it is to disappear the city with its winking face swallows souls without a trace they just go and don't come back - who can keep track? * joe the jolly bartender always has a smile he is a solid sender and everybody likes his style no poor sap is so down and out or so desperately blue that joe won't give him a happy shout from across the avenue

road poem

spiders weave, and flies escape clowns wear noses and magicians capes everything is what it shall be whales laugh in the deep black sea between the oceans the highways wait for wanderers to take the bait big wheels whispering in the rain yellow moons over the shadowed plain call them alice, samantha or flo dames will come and dames will go but a pal is a brother, you know when the road calls, you got to go down the highway and over the hills we've got our booze, we've got our pills past the factories, past the old mills stoked to the gills, looking for thrills craving adventure, desperate for love laughed at by the gods above angels and devils can play their tricks we're on a one-way quest for kicks down darkened highways smoked with dreams when nothing is really what it seems because every darkened window and door hides more secrets than can ever be explored past silent houses where dogs sleep on chairs as cats watch over them with gracious airs cinderella brings stepmother her evening tea because that is the way it will always be waves of music suddenly blast out of the hidden fellaheen past a shack on the prairie, window alight solid in the windy night bus stop annies in the shadows of the docks clodhopper clems sit beneath the clocks the bus from des moines is an hour late but it will not affect their fate silent pawn shops, all night cafes hotels that have seen better days bums clutching bottles in lionish paws because the night obeys no laws railroad bulls who once had hearts now practice moloch's murderous arts empty boxcars with flown away souls can't get no more jelly roll moctezuma and railroad bill in a souvenir shop outside boot hill wait for john henry's promised return because the world will never learn cabeza de vaca with his thumb stuck out gives a final desperate shout as william mckinley driving a tramways bus leaves him behind in a cloud of dust the final kick just out of reach end up on a deserted beach the ocean is the last motel room its whispering surf the voice of doom

pals, part 7: resolution

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though they did not exactly fly the days did in fact go by despite some pathetic half hearted resolutions to life i had no solutions and it went on as before with no crescendo or roar and try try as i might against my fate i could not fight every night jane walked through my brain again and again and again not really driving me insane i was too defeated for that so i finally put on my hat and one night made my way back to ray's i still remembered the way nothing seemed to have changed nothing had to be explained bertha was behind the bar as usual as always smiling and schmoozical henry and jane were there at me they did not stare but gave me a cursory nod as if they did not find my presence odd henry continued what he had to say as if never noticing i had been away and jane listened to him intently she had also not noticed i was gone evidently or more likely they just didn't care so i sat down in my chair then decided i really needed a drink so off to the bar i did slink i could hear them chattering away as they probably had every day with complete obliviousness to my disappearance so unmysterious o henry couldn't you see that jane meant everything to me i thought you were my friend but you brought my life to an end i returned with my drink to the table as i was perfectly able and though my brain feebly resisted it was if i had never existed we walk through life in a dream too polite to scream too disciplined and well bred until the waters close over our head the end

the missing spoon

"and so, you obstinate creature, you persist in denying your guilt?" "but i didn't take it, madam, i didn't! i swear i didn't!" mrs morthwicke did not conceal her contempt. "what say you, mister stanforth?" she asked the lean, somewhat wolf-faced gentleman standing on her left. "i am afraid it's as plain as a pikestaff, madam," he replied, with his long fingers firmly clutching the gray lapels of his frock coat. "the spoon is missing. no one else had the opportunity to take it. if there is only one possibility, it must be acknowledged, no matter how distasteful. therefore - ". he gave a rueful shrug. "do you hear that, miss?" mrs morthwicke asked the weeping maid. "mister stanforth solved the case of the jackberry diamonds. he saved the life of the queen from the mad turkish anarchist. am i to take your word, or his?" "oh, but please, madam, please," the girl cried. she looked around wildly. outside the windows tall trees could be seen waving in the wind, amid a few gusts of snow. "it's so cold out! and i didn't take the spoon, i swear!" hanson, the butler, was a bit disconcerted by the proceedings, and not from any sympathy for the maid, whom he had regarded as a sniveling, incompetent creature, with no personal charms to offset her inefficiency. it troubled him that the missing spoon had not been found, either in the girl's chambers, on her person - thoroughly searched by mrs allen, the housekeeper - or anywhere else. but in the face of mrs morthwicke's cold fury, and mr stanforth's reputation, he kept his peace. "please, madam, at least let me stay until morning! listen to the wind outside! how it howls!" "i am afraid i can not allow you in the house a moment longer. take her away, mrs allen." mrs allen stepped forward and escorted - virtually dragged - the weeping maid away, followed a few paces back by the solemn chanson. "an unpleasant business, mister stanforth," mrs morthwicke observed, when they were gone. "i thank you for your assistance." "unpleasant indeed, " mister stanforth replied. "but from my perspective, a trifle." "i see no reason to further inconvenience the other guests. shall we join them?" "if it is your pleasure." mrs morthwicke rose from her chair, and mister stanforth followed her across the long room. as he did so he passed his hand over his inner vest pocket, ever so gently caressing the outline of the small silver spoon contained in it, and the hint of a smile crossed his lips. for while it was true that mister stanforth had indeed solved the case of the jackberry diamonds (among many famous cases) and had saved the life of the queen on more than one occasion, it was also true that he enjoyed playing malicious pranks, especially on the more anonymous members of society.

seventh son

there were five customers in the bar. a sheriff with a big gut hanging over his belt, a floozie with a heart of gold, santa claus (he wasn't really santa claus, he was just dressed up as santa claus to stand beside a black kettle all day and solicit money) and two nuns who had also spent the day asking people for money. and joe the jolly bartender , who was trying to keep everybody in a good mood, in spite of the winter storm raging outside. the door opened, letting cold air and a little snow in. reed came in. "whiskey, reed?" joe asked him. "whiskey." joe poured the whiskey. "you know what i just did?" reed asked him. "no, reed, what did you just do?" "i just killed a man." "do tell?" "i do tell. i just did an honest day's work." reed looked around the bar. "which is probably more than any of you parasites can say. a man paid me to do a job and i did it." reed threw the whiskey down his throat and slapped the glass on the bar. "the son of a bitch begged for mercy. i told him to look in the dictionary under 'm'". "i think you've used that line before, reed," joe told him. joe looked over at the sheriff. "did you hear that, sheriff, reed says he just killed a man." the sheriff didn't look up. "in what county?" "hell, " reed answered, "i don't know. it was down the road. way down the road." "the county line's just across the street," the sheriff told him. reed ordered another shot of whiskey. they all fell silent. the door opened again letting in more cold air and a little snow and a seventh customer. well, you can just guess who it was.

jfk poem

jfk was shot people thought about it a lot they came to no conclusion was it all a mass delusion? a billion narratives sprung from every brain and tongue a trillion songs were sung and have only just begun in eternity oswald waits behind the window of fate in eternity jfk waves to a trillion spellbound slaves in eternity jackie's smile lights up the universe in style in eternity lbj straightens his tie and looks away in his office j edgar hoover the timeless prime mover stamps "secret" on a file whistling all the while in the shadow ruby lurks ready for fate's appointed work and the ghost of marilyn smiling floats above a windswept swirl of shredded notes in the dark forest of zapruder a quadrillion lonely brooders watch the endless loop of film which grows brighter and never dims the magic bullet spins washing away the sins of all who came before and all who stand upon the shore of the new world brought to birth crying out for all their worth my story is the true one if you don't like it, i've got a new one by probabilities reckoned a new narrative every millisecond a story for every taste get yours before it's too late a rainbow of endless stories in their proliferating glories for a quintillion happy minions entitled to their opinions

the last romantic

harold smith, a romantic soul had a desperate resolute goal he pined for the lady emmeline and dreamed to ask, "wilt thou be mine?" fortune favored harold not and brushed him aside without a thought the stars looked down on him unseeing and cared not for his inner being his fellow humans likewise cared not a whit how harold fared in pursuit of such romance as might be granted him by chance the city's drawing rooms are lit by flashing eyes and sparkling wit amorous hints and flashing glances in which all manner of promise dances but outside on the avenue are those for whom the wind blows through sad fantasies and ragged clothes no love song, but the croak of crows for such as harold, in the mist the tale has no redeeming twist no jolly songs around the hearth no escape from this abandoned earth the moon looks down on her rough sibling no teardrop from her eye is dribbling her face is smooth, her smile is cold at every story ever told his humble plaint was never posed the book on harold now is closed owls and bats look down askance at dreaming love's last graveyard dance

cherry

under a blue familiar sky polly baked a cherry pie the farmhands fell down in a coma overcome by its aroma through the fields the effluvia spread the hands fell down as if struck dead and through the corn rows, stern as sin john the baptist came again john, cried polly, half in fright why are you here before midnight? the end approaches, john replied i am just along for the ride dark clouds appeared like flying banners but polly did not forget her manners she kept her wits as she was able and asked john to sit at the table in a calm collected state she put some pie upon a plate and poured a glass of orange juice for catastrophe was no excuse john tentatively took a sip outside in the apocalypse the sky had turned to darkest night and demons howled in rare delight as prophesied in ancient screed the fearful four on flaming steeds filled the horizon from side to side the gates of hell were opened wide from duty polly did not swerve she thought a cup of tea might serve before the world was finally gone polly put the kettle on but before the water she could pour the pale rider came through the door no time for lengthy lamentations or exculpatory explanations "john, it was so nice knowing you" "polly, i really liked you too" then death, with a knowing glance so sly finished off the cherry pie

a pastoral

ah corydon, poor corydon why beats thy heart so sore? phyllis is aflame with love and walks along the shore and yet she never looks thy way not even when the breeze from distant lands and distant skies should give her gazing ease but looks away, away, away awaiting her true knight with nary glance for her poor slave ne'en a shadow in her sight thou piteous piteous wight lost neath heaven's blue eye thy chance of love is slight what canst thou do but ply thy pipe through meadows green thy song through forests dark thy love unheard unseen to which only phantoms hark

the peaceful village, part 2

part two of two

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the monster curled his sneering lip and slouched against his silver spaceship and considered the little town and whether to swallow it whole down he had traveled through all time and space ravaging worlds with an ill grace sometimes he got bored and wondered if he should cut the cord which bound his fragile existence to a universe which made no sense and then on the radar of his ship another world would make a blip and he would think, just one more and land on its blue or grassy shore terrorize the population and leave behind him desolation he had once been wild and free but now he suffered from ennui and could hardly summon the energy to level a village or uproot a tree and the creatures he crunched between his jaws sometimes almost gave him pause the neurons in his brain grew loose and he wondered, what's the use but his fragile ruminations were cut short by the sensation of a living creature approaching on his radius encroaching it was none other than johnny smith who had taken it upon himself forthwith to challenge this monster in his own domain and did it not for fame or gain but because it was the thing to do his resolve was firm and his heart was true though such considerations on the monster's brain made no indentations he only detected a pest and you can just guess the rest - or can you? can you say with total assurance who carried the day? is there a final cosmic text to describe what happened next? or only endless wind and rain obscuring what happens again and again stories unfold and refold are over and over again told all hear what they wish to hear as into the fog they peer in endless universes you can supply your own verses johnny might get eaten or the monster might get beaten or johnny and the monster become good friends and head off to some other earth's ends or both be hit by lightning as they are heroically fighting in endless possibility there is a dark city where the monster slices the pie and johnny is a private eye in the window there is a dame who plays her own game playing johnny and the monster for chumps as they endlessly take their lumps on a street with no beginning where all the suckers are winning and the wise men bide their time until the final flower of crime when the final case is cracked the last lion and tiger tracked as the saints and angels slumber for a good time call this number

the peaceful village, part 1

part one of two

once there was a peaceful village with no murder, rape or pillage everyone did honest labor and was friendly to their neighbor every door was opened wide so that folks could come inside all elders were respected no crime was ever detected they had no silver, jewels or gold but through the valley a river rolled bringing water to boundless crops that folks could eat until they dropped mom and dad got up at dawn and polly put the kettle on all day long they did their chores so that they were never bored grandmothers were round and wise and made excellent blueberry pies grandpa though his hair was grayed enjoyed his pipe beneath the shade little boys ran and spread the news little girls minded their p's and q's it was the way that it should be for all of eternity and then one day a shadow fell across the world they knew so well thunder rolled across the land the distant horizon was fearfully scanned nightmares visited young and old strange tales around the fire were told people kept their doors shut tight and could hardly sleep at night outside the village a monster lurked skulking in the fog and murk waiting for the silent hour the unwary traveler to devour no longer could the children play even in the light of day birds abandoned the cloudy skies the villagers scanned with frightened eyes laughter was replaced with fear throughout the long and dreary year the leafless trees felt winters chills and the monster laughed behind the hills things might have gone along this way and the village perished, who can say? but fate would not be so forlorn because a hero had been born johnny smith, a faceless sort showed little sign, by all reports of standing out among the crowd not too quiet, not too loud even johnny's mom and dad little suspected that johnny had the stuff of heroes in his being none indeed were so farseeing the night was dark, and wet and drear the little household huddled in fear mom and dad and johnny and sis as the rain against the windows hissed dad whittled at his favorite stick you could hear mom's heartbeat tick sis stared into space and wiggled her toes then johnny from the table rose his algebra homework he put down and looked around with a puzzled frown he listened to the rain and scratched his head i think i'll go for a walk, he said sis looked puzzled, dad looked sad mom cried, johnny, are you mad this is something you must not do outside, certain death awaits you aw gee ma, don't talk like that said johnny, putting on his hat my clouded brain needs a fresh air shock i will just walk around the block so without saying anything more johnny walked over and opened the door and disappeared into the wind and rain would he ever be seen again? part 2

pals, part 6: devastation and retreat

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"an early night, ben?" jane casually enquired, and then although it may have been my imagination i thought i saw a deputation of angels of compassion (but in no emphatic fashion) flit across her pale face but they quickly passed without a trace i was at a crossroads my brain staggered under heavy loads and its barely connected parts after a few fits and starts stopped functioning altogether and i didn't know whether i was dreaming or awake or if the world was real or fake how much time went by? i will not even try to approximately calculate but it probably determined my fate jane's eyes began to glaze her brows she slightly raised there was nothing left to say i knew i had better be on my way my brain contracted with cosmic fear i mumbled a goodbye she probably couldn't even hear and staggered away with a flea in my ear (to use an old fashioned expression so drear) the night was dark - what else would it be? but somehow i was able to see my way home to mrs brown's front door as i had done so many times before it was late - very late no one wondered at my fate or questioned my steps on the stairs as they had their own cares mrs brown slept the sleep of the good and the other boarders understood that everyone's world was their own in which they could silently squirm and moan replays danced and twisted in my head i tried to remember all that was said in the fateful hour just flashed in which all my dreams had crashed one thought especially thundered through my brain as i wondered what henry and jane were saying about my premature straying if i had stayed one minute more my head would not be in this uproar now i could picture henry's smirk because i had been such a jerk beer and pretzels they 'd be quaffing as at me they were laughing and then another terrible thought went through me like a shot i could picture their lips moving in conversation most improving i could hear their voices rise and fall as they never mentioned me at all not even in mockery or scorn i might as well never have been born the little man who was not there vanished into thinnest air i felt a strange reassurance at contemplating this possible occurrence and with this thought so deep i finally drifted off to sleep but not without a final musing on the dream i was losing but the dream was - what? maybe it was no dream - but images of henry and jane fell like raindrops in my brain henry turned into a yellow dog and jane to a doorway in the fog to be continued

dante

dante wrote about heaven and hell things he presumed to know very well in his smooth and elegant rhymes he chronicled all things and all times he knew the living and the dead all were lined up in his head saints and sinners, early and late he assigned them each a fate and when the final judgment sounds and st peter makes his last go round and the check is cashed for the human race no smile will flit across dante's face as he stands beneath old eden's tree unfazed by any mystery - all very edifying, no doubt but what did he really think about? i bet dante had some folks back home and a little gal he could call his own and a faithful dog who trotted by his side and a favorite chair by the fireside a home cooked meal and a hearty brew a good cigar would be welcome too when curfew tolled at the end of day heaven and hell would be far away

ace of night, part 5: carla

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carla stood under the awning in front of the hotel belmore and watched the cab disappear down the dark street. she shook the rain off her coat and her beret as best she could and went inside. the girl at the front desk was reading a romance comic and blowing bubblegum and hardly glanced at her when she crossed the lobby and headed for the elevator. the lobby was empty. the belmore was a women only hotel - no men past the front door - and unlike some other similar establishments that carla had stayed in, it was very quiet, the way she liked it, with no nosy chattering females filling the hallways and lobby. the elevator was empty too, and she did not see anybody in the corridors leading to her room. was she the only person in the place? she heard voices - not too loud - in one of the rooms. she felt reassured for some reason. when she got to her room she took her time getting her wet clothes off, drying herself off, and putting a bathrobe on. there was a small lamp on the table beside the bed and she turned it on, leaving the overhead light off. she had plenty of time - almost four hours before she had to go out again. she would allow herself one cigarette and then have a nap. she had a perfect internal clock and could always wake up when she wanted. she did not have to look outside to see if it was still raining. she could hear it, and the wind, louder than ever. she hoped it would stop or at least let up before she went out again, but what could you do? she never worried about things she could not control. as she blew smoke rings toward the ceiling she thought about the guy in the cab, jeff. what a jerk! but maybe she should have been nicer to him, strung him along a little, set him up to maybe use him down the line. she might need some help, someone to watch her back. even an oaf like that. but she had been feeling lousy, in no mood to turn on the charm, and he had caught her off guard. thinking about it, she realized he had reminded her of larry, even though he didn't look anything like him, with that same smirky bulldog way. did bulldogs smirk? whatever. maybe he would pop up again. like he had been so happy to point out, he was just across the street. maybe she would sound him out, see if she could use him. but she didn't want him around tonight, that was for sure. a sudden thought popped into her mind. what if he hung around outside tonight, saw her go out again? then she laughed at herself. at three in the morning? and maybe in this rain? he would have to be the most puppy dog guy in the world to do something like that, and that wasn't this guy, whatever else he was. no, that was the least of her worries. she put the cigarette out in the ashtray beside the lamp, and turned the lamp off. it was nap time. carla could often - not always, but often - dream what she wanted to dream about. tonight especially she wanted to dream about being back on the beach in portugal or morocco with larry, only this time she would get the better of him, instead of the other way around. but as she started to fall asleep she saw the guy in the cab instead, that she was so sure she could handle. and then she remembered how crazy larry had been, and how jealous, and how sure she had been that she had him all set up for the double cross - but he had double crossed her instead - he had got her good. to be continued

the bargain

night was falling. a train whistled in the distance. it was time. twenty years. he had stayed in the shack for twenty years, as instructed. and now it was time. he walked out of the shack. he closed the door behind him. he did not lock it, as he had no key. the last rays of the sun disappeared behind the horizon. he started walking down the hill. he had kept his part of the bargain. would they keep theirs? even if they meant to, a lot could go wrong in twenty years. he came to the old tree, which had marked the limit of his walks during his time in the cabin. he passed the tree. he did not look back. another two miles, and he should come to a big rock, and a curb and a dip in the road. a car or truck should be waiting. he made good time. the night was clear. the path was not too narrow. his mind was a blank. he noticed the trees, the rocks, and the leaves and pine needles on the path. it wasn't too cool or too warm. he took his jacket off and slung it over his shoulder. suddenly, he was there. and the vehicle was there. a station wagon, looking pretty much like the ones he would have seen twenty years ago. a woman was leaning against it. in the darkness he could not tell her age or if she was good looking. she didn't speak, but waited as he approached. "you from jenkins?" he asked. "of course." she had a husky, smoker's voice. "you got anything in that jacket?" "what?" "the jacket. let us see the jacket." us? he took the jacket off his shoulder and fanned it. "throw it over here." as he tossed her the jacket the rear door of the station wagon opened and another, bigger woman got out. the big woman motioned for him to lift his arms, and she patted him down. "i guess you can't be too careful." they ignored this. "get in the front," the first woman told him. she handed the jacket back to him. he relaxed. everything was going to be all right. why would they go to all this trouble, leave him up there for twenty years if they were not going to keep their end of the bargain? he got in. the seat was pushed back, there was plenty of room. the first woman got in the driver's seat. there was a purse between the seats and she took her time getting a cigarette out of it and lighting it. the other woman got back in the back seat, behind him. "want a drink?" the first woman asked. "uh - i wouldn't object to a little one." "there's a half pint in the glove compartment. help yourself." sure enough, there was a half pint of dewar's in the glove compartment, unopened. "um - you got a cup or something. i wouldn't want to -" "just drink it. it's all yours. it's a present from jenkins." "we're not whiskey drinkers anyway," said the woman in back. it was the first time she had spoken. "we're more beer drinkers. schlitz. we like our schlitz." he broke the seal and opened the bottle and took a sip. as soon as the liquor passed his throat he knew something was wrong. he heard the engine start up. it was the last thing he heard.

the flower

by pamba* translated from the akkadian by horace p sternwall there is a flower that will only open when time stops o traveler do not wait upon the sun but hasten from this place this wall of the dreams of kings this palace of beggars this council house of skulls did you dream of stopping time it has already devoured you as the sand devours the sea as tilgath devoured babylon as nabopolassar devoured assyria as alexander devoured egypt as the owl devours the mouse o traveler do not wait but hasten from this place that those who laugh at the wanderings of men may send you a drop of rain a tear from the eye of the beast that devours you * pamba (c 1 ad - 50 ad) was one of the last poets to write in akkadian. nothing is known of him (her?)

the aesthete

i awoke quite weak and weary from a dream of aesthetic theory heard cats fighting in the street and the windows rattle with wind and sleet the leering, winking night was a symphony of fright the radiators cold as death the air filled with my frozen breath i put on my shoes and socks took a dollar from my cigar box though my debts i could not tally from my garret did i sally to the street so dark and drear with no companion but my fear and the lights of kentucky fried chicken toward which my steps did quicken and found the street so dark and fearsome oh if only i could hear some of the voices from the past to wash away my guilt at last some fragments of long ago which with the wind would blow my all-encompassing despair through my wet and whispering air and leave me just a shell on the dark doorstep of hell happily devouring my share of the colonel's crispy golden fare a basket of legs and wings to my journey finally brings the glow of stilled and final time i never found in art or crime

on the corner

i stood on the corner all my life and never got lost and everything in the drugstore i knew what it cost the pizza parlor behind my back the echoes from the railroad track the endless movies in my head the roads down which they never led the distant highway with its phantom trucks the silver rolls royces and the big bucks everybody's dreams or only mine? the flicker of a match or endless time? i want to jump in the river of darkness and wash my life away let that shiny moon rise over my grave and let them never find me the next day

traveling man

rome new york poor boy, far from home thumb out between troy and rome pa went bust and sold the farm the world is full of woe and harm muncie indiana women in muncie have sad eyes wear blue dresses and make pies they leave them on the windowsill for passing boes to eat their fill joliet illinois the girls all laugh at the poor boys standing on the corner in joliet illinois paris tennessee the sheriff in paris tennessee doesn't care for you or me he sits in front of the courthouse wall and hardly ever moves at all waycross georgia folks drink doctor pepper and moxie and go to movies at the roxie everywhere there's lots of dust they stomp and breathe it, because they must laramie wyoming tom thought adelaide was sweet they went to the diner across the street they had coffee and pie and such she looked out the window and didn't say much sheridan wyoming there was this hippie got on the bus he didn't look like one of us had wraparound shades and a long red beard he was a cannibal, we feared elko nevada hank lies in bed in the dark motel outside the world is hot as hell pearl stands in the doorway, if you please desperately waiting for a breeze death valley the vulture in the endless sky smoothly sailing, high and dry looks down upon the rattlesnakes and scorpions in the long dead lakes end of the road seeing the sun set in the west that was the thing i liked the best and when we reached the pacific coast that was the thing i liked the most the road goes on in greyhound stations a strange light falls across the benches at night

a walk on the beach

a tiresome windbag and a crashing bore walked along a pebbled shore the windbag spoke of the meaning of life the bore of his unloving wife a seagull watched as they grew near and saw the windbag brush a tear from his pale and fluttering eye beneath the gray and cloudswept sky the seagull had no notion of the cause of the windbag's emotion but scanned the wide and desolate beach for edibles within his reach alas, alas, the windbag cried as he scanned the detritus of the tide my life its course has near run through but i have not received my due o why is humanity imbued with inexplicable ingratitude for all that i have striven why is no acknowledgement given? the bore now caught the seagull's eye like his, it was exceeding dry and seemed to wander as the windbag on his one note continued to drag the horizon showed no mighty ships but a bag of wise potato chips caught the seagull's pertinent gaze the wind had blown the bag a ways the unbroken bag contained a feast to delight a human, bird or beast a potent mix of salt and grease to fuel a creature's inner peace the windbag with the bore kept pace as raindrops began to hit their faces the wind picked up, the tide grew higher the windbag's voice did not expire they continued down the beach's curve but from their natures did not swerve each one talked, but nothing said until the sinking sun turned red the night grew dark, and damp, and cold across the waves their voices rolled the windbag swore, the bore insisted the seagull forgot that they existed

pals, part 5: no escape

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in the pitiless whirlwind of the everyday where we never know what to say and time shreds our dreams and throws them in the universe's disappearing streams sometimes a moment comes when we hear the sound of pounding drums cutting through the constant buzz like a message that ever was as henry resumed his spiel explaining what was and was not real my eyes apparently became so glazed that even henry was fazed he stared at me and then said, " i hope i'm not boring you, ben" i tried to laugh it off and with a mendacious cough i said, "of course not, henry your conversation always fascinates me" he gazed at me in silent contemplation and then resumed his dissertation on the secret causes of world war one or maybe the exact moment the universe had begun in his even voice, as always before nothing less, but maybe something more my mind and eyes kept wandering to the door as they had never done before henry, who was actually somewhat perspicacious eyed me in a manner not quite gracious suddenly he stopped his face took on the look of a good cop "i am boring you," he exclaimed. "no doubt i have only myself to blame" although i did not get down on my knees i was full of apologies "i am sorry, henry," i mumbled on my secret had he stumbled? but what was my great secret? what did i have cause to regret? my feelings were no nebulous even i would be incredulous if i tried to in words to explain what i felt about jane who still had not come through the door as i glanced at it once more now henry, following my glance looked at me askance "expecting a visitor?" his eyes into me did bore "ah, just as i thought all along the same old sorry song you are certainly not the first it happens to the best and the worst -" "please," i heard myself say "i have had a long day and your wisdom, though rigorously distilled is still a bitter pill i think i need some fresh air" and under henry's incredulous stare i slowly rose from my chair looked at the door - still no jane there and departed the premises of ray's oh how many nights and days had passed, since once immured in my seat, i had so stirred before closing time was announced in my step there was no bounce as i stepped out into the night had my old life taken flight? or was this only a blip in the steady downward course of life's trip from nothingness to nowhere into the darkness i did stare my feet i began to move as i felt it did behoove me to leave ray's behind was i losing my mind? nobody called my name the street looked just the same the yawning emptiness of the night somehow felt just right a few hours alone in my room would not be a sentence of doom and so without remorse i set forth on my new old course my paychecks i would save to booze i would no longer be enslaved and so i had made up my mind but fate could not be so kind and to my doom i was lured for a voice behind me i heard my head i could not restrain from turning - and there was jane part 6

pals, part 4: reenter henry

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we walk through this world alone with secret dreams and silent moans in impenetrable dark with only an occasional spark what was jane to me but the same old mystery that envelops the trillion separate earths of a trillion separate births the whimperings and curses of a trillion universes abandoned and forlorn never asking to be born what had jane seen that night that had caused her to take flight was it any business of mine? a casual observer might well opine here i must confess i am beginning to digress i return to my narrative line next night i was right on time at the end of another day in "my" seat at rays cafe jane was not there, to my chagrin and then - henry walked in after greetings all around the bar he found and lovingly caressing his drink into "his" chair he did sink my world had been turned upside down but henry didn't laugh or frown in fact he hardly glanced at me but looked around quite placidly at the assembled denizens of rays who did not seem to be changing their ways they were staring at their suds as if eternity was in their blood nothing seemed worth a mention then henry turned his attention to me - his features rearranged and he said "you've changed" i had the wherewithal to say "everything changes every day" he replied quick as a cat "you don't get off as easy as that - i think you will agree that nothing gets past me" "no," i replied, slightly nettled "i didn't know such a thing had been settled." henrys eyes grew slightly wide and he casually replied "no reason to get testy, old boy i didn't mean to annoy it has been a while since we met and i must confess i forget where we ended our last converse - did we leave the world better or worse?" a fool could plainly see that henry was trying to placate me in his usual easy way so why did i hear myself say - "i don't know how i lasted so long without your dance and song your infinite knowledge of all events your deep wisdom and profound sense of all that has been and will be " henry just stared at me as if i had grown a second head and then he said - "my, aren't we in a lather i thought you enjoyed my blather or if not actively enjoyed at least were never annoyed -" henry's eyes narrowed and then he opened them wide again - "ah" he exclaimed with a trace of glee "i think i begin to see - you are showing all the signs most of them not benign of a guy who has had his brain hammered by a dame yes, i see it now only too well one of them has cast her spell maybe on purpose, maybe not i never would have thought -" i felt i'd been punched in the gut "never would have thought what?" "oh, i didn't mean to upset you" henry took a sip of his brew "we can talk about politics instead" a whirlwind roared in my head henry nodded and winked i didn't know what to think and where was jane tonight? nothing seemed right i really didn't know what to say about this game i didn't know how to play part 5: no escape

ace of night, part 4: the wind and the rain

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there were no messages for me when i got inside the hotel. not that i was expecting any, but i always check. just like i always look both ways and behind me when i cross the street. you got to gamble, but you can't be too careful. i walked up the three flights of stairs to my room. i don't like elevators. did i ever tell you what happened to me in an elevator in budapest in 1944? but that is another story. i walked down the corridors. one thing about the place, it was quiet. i stood outside the door of the hotel room. how many doors outside how many rooms in how many hotels in how many cities in how many continents had i stood like this - my sixth sense told me everything was all right. i still wished i had a gun. i needed a lot of things - that was high on the list. i put the key in the door and opened it and went in. i switched on the light. nothing. just like i expected. my powers of prediction were still working pretty good. good enough, anyway. i needed some sleep but i knew i wasn't going to get any. i had gotten pretty wet, so i got my suitcase out and changed my clothes. i could hear the wind and rain outside. i couldn't stop thinking about the dame in the cab - what did she call herself? miss lost lamb. i went and looked out the window, it was raining harder than ever. i hoped miss lost lamb hadn't gotten too wet getting out of the cab. she was right across the street. so close, so close. i could say, she might as well be a million miles away. but i know better. fate has a way of stepping in. especially if you know how to handle it. i got a cigarette out of my pack and started to light it with my lighter. then i remembered the matchbook. davenport 7 - 5297. i went over and sat on the bed and picked up the phone. the line was dead. not too surprising, in a dump like this. but now i was curious. and i wasn't going to sleep anyway. i didn't feel like going back out in the rain. i figured i'd go down to the front desk, use the phone down there. yeah, that is what i'd do. davenport 7 -5297 it had a certain ring to it. part 5: carla

first poem

columbus sailed the ocean blue napoleon met his waterloo nero fiddled while rome burned joan of arc was roasted to a turn george washington cut down the cherry tree patrick henry wanted to be free abraham lincoln freed the slaves blackbeard rests in a watery grave cleopatra was fond of snakes moses was found in the canebrake isaac newton got hit by an apple jacob with the angel all night did grapple delilah cut poor samsons hair solomon sat in a golden chair benedict arnold was a traitor foul old ben franklin was wise as an owl confucius had a lot to say buddha sat in the shade all day friar tuck and robin hood robbed the bad to feed the good methusaleh lived to be very old jesse james was an outlaw bold bob ford shot jesse in the back all pride and manhood he did lack florence nightingale tended the sick the tower of babel was made of brick noah built an ark in the rain goliath by little david was slain all these things i learned in school i am a barely tolerable fool always keep your powder dry and wait until you see the whites of their eyes

lover

you look so fine, baby, coming down the stairs with your eccentric millionaires a mellon and a dupont on each arm how could you ever come to harm? down in the shadows, behind the band that's me with a tray in my hand but you need not be impressed i'm serving the chauffeurs, not the guests i know your new friends would never believe that you could ever plot to deceive with your baby eyes and perfect smile but i have walked with you many a mile on feet of dreams down a highway of lies under burning, black and rainy skies but why speak in symbols, why talk in riddles your hell is real and i'm in the middle remember the gray nevada sand when we walked into vegas hand in hand the bus blasted by with its black exhaust but we never stopped to count the cost vegas - the american vampire night lit by money's undying light 24 hours of non-stop cancer the tunnel of love for two cons without an answer third time unlucky, you always said the third mark we rolled turned up righteously dead you took one look at the sucker's i d your eyes got wide and you said to me this guy's the boss of the whole east coast but, baby, i still love you the most no need to be scared of this dead mother as long as we are true to each other and remember the cafe in laramie when i became you, and you became me and the world was buried in cold and snow it was not so very long ago now that i think of it - yes, whenever i'd wake up from a dream of love forever your eyes were always clear and bright checking out everything, everything in sight when we held up the liquor store in ukiah i thought i heard the heavenly choir but it was the deputy's turn to die you saved me then - now i wonder why and what would mrs purvington-smith say if she knew who you hung out with and the things you did and the things you knew and the jokers and johns you conned - the whole crew and mr and mrs burford jones would shiver in their upholstered bones and cry for their mamas if you ever admitted to all the murders you've committed remember the time on 34th street when you got blisters on both feet we went into larry's sandwich shop the rain began falling, drop by drop and there was that pink cigar smoking god callahan from the vice squad but he just nodded and stirred his tea stirred his tea, so wearily larry's was kind of declasse the american sub was his forte you liked yours so much you ordered two more the rain began to really pour a guy at the counter with a purple face told a sad story about the seventh race the hustlers and losers and shoppers outside went by in a single watery tide at times like that it seemed to me they were all slaves, and only i was free the world wasn't old, the world wasn't new the world wasn't anything, but i had you

swinging doors (short version)

nobody ever walked through those swinging doors not even billy the kid in his sunday best or jack the ripper in his carpet slippers or jesse james with his brain in flames who wouldn't play abe lincoln's games or general grant with his railroad track who shot poor jesse in the back or bob ford with his flaming sword riding to chicago in the dining car with a glass of port and a cuban cigar or robert e lee with his cup of tea who paid the bill for poor quantrill or queen victoria with her daffodil asking andrew carnegie to please sit still or cora peal in her negligee teaching edward vii the truth and the way or nellie bly with her apple pie or j p morgan with his cloudless sky or john d rockefeller with his shiny dime making sure the trains always ran on time look out the window of the smoking car no mongol hordes ever rode so far as wyatt earp in his checkered vest as he blew a hole in billy's chest

tomorrow is always midnight

webs of passion never go out of fashion webs of betrayal never grow stale webs of fear will always be here and a web of suspense never relents a deadly dame always wins the game and a chump who is spurned never learns a guy named bob has to take on one last job as a boss named mister cass pours some whiskey in his glass and his flunky, albany red laughs at whatever he said bob is in for it now he had no chance anyhow his dreams of being a regular guy are headed for the sweet bye and bye he heads back to his lonely room under a cloud of doom hardly knowing what to think he stops in for a drink he knows it's getting late he better keep his head on straight he will have just one and when it is done why not two? what's a guy supposed to do when it's too late and he's being swallowed by fate he is down to his last dime and it's closing time just as well because he has to answer the bell tomorrow morning at nine rise and shine meet two guys named slim and pete down on desolation street they have what he will need to do the deed suddenly everything's a blur and he thinks - of her the cause of all his woe and pain will he ever see her again? just make it out the door don't think about her any more too bad, bob, too bad the only chance you ever had go home and get some sleep you are in too deep nothing left but to take a stand and play the hand

a ballad

in the merry month of may my true love broke my heart i vowed eternal vengeance but knew not where to start i went to see the gypsy her counsel for to seek but when she heard my tale of woe even the gypsy could not speak i went to see the serpent in her cage inside the zoo and she commiserated but could not tell me what to do i went to see the wind and waves that beat upon the shore and they sighed but had no solace for the sorrow that i bore in an alley by the docks i found a pawnshop dimly lit and i bought a .357 to my hand a perfect fit in the fog i flagged a passing cab and directed it uptown as i chatted with the driver my face it bore no frown i felt a peace within me as the cab approached the gate of the brightly lit up mansion where my love would meet her fate i looked up at her window as the rain beat on my face and all the hate within me disappeared without a trace a guard approached and asked me what business i had there i turned away without reply indifferent to his stare the house, the lights, the wind, the rain like an iridescent dream all vanished in an instant as if they had never been i walked along a river bank and heard the tolling of a bell never to think of her again until we meet in hell