Strange Days
“I can hardly wait…….”
Juliette Lewis
“I’m going to a place where the sun shines
brighter and the stars are always out.”
Gary Evans, serial killer, tombstone poem
There they are, Mardi Gras
made up, juiced on Purple Jesus,
the cocktail and the prophet,
rapture guided and call girl invited
down unlit spiral stairs into flat screened
night, celestial events inside, asteroid
belts and flame out comet eyes
in newly discovered, candle powered
hipster dive, holy roller, thrum jazz
crazy upbeat paradise pulse, broken
crack pipes and scorched essence of tea,
a shooting gallery for popgun deadbeat
poets and their unventilated nightmares
spreading like carcinoma calloused skin
spiderwebbing closet space no one can
move in, least of all the half white-faced,
half black-faces mummers miming
a play of words, “When the music’s over
turn out the lights, turn out the lights….”
The Body
“You only find something like that
after Karaoke.
Whoever invented that shit
had hell in mind, knew it would become
a bar owner’s best friend. How else could
people justify getting totally wasted and
making a complete fool of themselves in
the name of fun and spending all their money
while doing it?
It’s like the state lottery with
alcohol and Bruce Springsteen. Yeah, all kinds
of weird shit happens after Karaoke nights.
And after St. Patrick’s; all the rules of normal
human behavior go out the window then.”
The clean up guy said, in reference to
the body under the bench. The only thing
that had separated it, when sober, from a
rock,
was a nominal pulse, this spat upon, rolled
in the mud like solution of spilled beer,
cigarette
ash and human waste that was the bar floor.
It was like Rome after the first wave of
barbarians
had ripped through town, those party-‘til-you-
drop dead enders with a pocket full of speed
to chase their epic hangovers South before
they had a chance to establish a hold on
brains
so fogged by years of serious substance abuse,
a week in the tank wouldn’t begin to lessen
the load they were about to carry.
Lying undiscovered, in after hours dark,
chair feet up on tables no one bothered to
look under; clean up is such a drag,
leave that shit work for the sweeper.
Besides, there was precious little catch up
time
left in this life of too much noise, never
enough
money or willing women to share it with,
to be worried about missing persons of dubious
distinction.
“I could open up a Victoria’s Secret
second hand shop with all the ladies garments
I find.” The cleanup guy said, “Sometimes you
have to wonder how they got where they ended up
with no one noticing: behind the bar, amid the
rows of bottles, under the rinse sinks, nestled inside
light fixture shades…..The security tapes no one
is supposed to know about, must be X-rated.
I wonder if I could find them on-line?
Would make those college girls on Spring Break
things look like Walt Disney presents:
“Bambi Does Albany.” Yeah, finding stuff,
that’s what this job is all about.
And cleaning it up.”
for Gary of the Floors
She should
have
been wearing
a
BEYOND GOOD
AND EVIL t-
shirt instead
of
the form
fitting
pullover
that
emphasized
her
breasts
that
launched a
1,000
ships
though
the hot
pants
attached to
her
rear end
almost
blew the
effect
suggesting a,
later
in life, war
between
slut and
slob
judging by the
way
the labels of
her
Jockey
underwear
for women & the
GAP
pants were
exposed
for all to
see,
made me
think,
first the
slut
wins then
the
slob takes
over
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