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I woke *up* feelin ruthless as the redsox
lean years ahead, our beloved Tony C,
our Adonis from Swampscott,
in the dirt, eye blackened, career over, like thatthe sound of one finger snapping
(and I look at how it all worked out,
my life 86ed,
all the tenderloins grilled with onions,
booger people in me head taunting,
Nah Nah Nanette,
Where are you, Nanette?
Is there anybody in here?
Is any fascist safe in a world of freedom,
rules of law, shudder cheese on dey coleslaw?
Or am I dealing with a comfortable numbskull?)
Of course, those Coney Island hotdog nitrates will kill you in the end.
The only thing that kept johnny g alive
(that’s me, if you believe the hype)
all those thin fatwa years
was his gallo sense of humor
(we will sell, we will serve
no divine before its time:
jeez, what we’ll do in life to rhyme)
gallo skidrow humor
I’ve heard the best street comics rant
antic on
like Hamlet, like Ophelia after Hamlet,
like Mr. Bojangles
the way David Bromberg plays it, goofin’
but poignant,
like skid row itself,
where the only skin color that matters is
brown bag
brownbag blues, my memoir:
where the fuck’s my golden kazoo?
I’m the man with the golden kazoo.
I woke up and went back to sleep
as Groucho instructed:
He was no slouch.
I slept on the couch,
muttering, “Fuck it,
with quantum ahead, why even pretend to be deep?”
Boston Strong. Castle Keep. Che t-shirts read.
I’m too old to love or be loved:
I recall my confirmation at Sacred Heart,
I attended Sacred Heart jr
and read novels of the last Holocaust secretly in class:
Night, for instance,
and years later, when I saw The Boys from Brazil
I had then enough experience under my bible belt
to know that shit could happen:
did happen: 6 million not 5:
eins drei zwei vier fünf … nein nein nein nein nein
little jolly blue eyes mit the foamy dobermans
just waiting for failure to set him off
aided and abetted by sleeper Eichmans everywhere
which is why we need to be more vigilant
more never again
about ChatGPT and artifice intelligence
and other forms of fist-fucking
and rakemucking
da chickens come home to roast in da churchyard
foxey lady
crosstown traffic
to get to the other side, my ass
(Fuck, Prince threw his guitar into the crowd
after ‘covering’ My Guitar Gently Weeps
as if to say (him struttin off the stage) to them,
as if to say, Tears Before Swine,
(CUT TO Sinead O’Connor,
ihre augen runneth over:
then I discovered Enya, slept a million years a day,
not a criticism, believe me),
Umma save those pearls o’ mine.
Pigs and scapegoats and generally-speaking kine.
I woke
and I busted a gut laffin
and had to be hospitalized
and they had me in stitches
and the scars that won’t heal
(fuck you, Daniel)
and it’s like onions are everywhere
peeled and fully loaded
waterworks
waterworks
waterworks
me cryin like vintage Roy Orbison fans
too much of nothin’
too much of a good thing:
like the nympho trap in the film Shock Corridor:
where am i a-spose a-go
and me not the marrying type
not used to being the center of attention
truly Copernican that way
now with hordes of suitors in asylum pajamas
teeming, teaming up, me letting out a Chiquito scream,
the gendarmes on to him and his Pulitzer-seeking ways
me, feeling like Diogenes wif the women wined up
inverting my pyramid scheme,
the 5Ws dead as doornails, sex romps, ann-margaret
sitting on elvis’s face, looking for trouble, finding it, plenty
and the women,
not really getting my point about the lamp
its licking flames pointing to the darkness in our hearts
in broad daylight
me, living out of a cracker barrel in my mind,
always cheesed about sumpin,
Love Minus Zero playing in my head
around and around, up and down it goes
like like like Rita Moreno in Carnal Knowledgedonkeypumpin
my blues away after the Smith College girl
blew me off, like five easy pieces of Judas silver,
too good for my blues, all jewels and binoculars
and art garfunkel smug as
a trustee in the Catch-22 zoo
I woke up this morning.
I went back to sleep.
Fuck it.
Just another day on the ward of the world.
Fuck it.
Wake me when the meds are here.
Fuck it.
Adieu, Adieu, Adieu…
said Green Eggs and Ham It Up.
I don’t like green eggs.
And I’m not Irish.
Well, maybe ein bisch.
Just one while I watch the Celtics.
Go go go said the Birdhumankind cannot tolerate too much reality.There’s just too much.