Tuesday, July 29, 2014

(5.1) FRANK'S ENCHANTED WORLD VAUDEVILLE (starring Frank)

ST. IGNATZ OF THE RATS

For Michael Moore of those misty-Sixty army days who told me how St. Ignatz saved the NYC sewer rats from the alligators,

for Al Houseworth who showed me the storm drains of Santa Fe, and for Julie Joyce who accompanied me on a mission that started in the storm drain and ended in the Cementerio de los NiƱos.




(not Santa Fe)

ST IGNATZ OF THE RATS

Twenty-first century wild-ness
doubles & triples back upon itself.

Thickets and brambles
like concertina wire
looped & looped again.

Cedar Sentinels
limbs and branches
all a-tangle
stop the penetration - at least for now.

Barred from nature
Frank takes to the city
takes to the solitude of storm drains.

Down a culvert
into the maw
Darkness and damp
Palpable
Suffocating

Frank can't see his hands

Converse high-tops soaked

Pant-legs wet & clinging.

Now's the time
for that Dollar-Store pen-light
to pen-through
the damp and chatter

to reveal -

Rats

straight out of Hamlin

a dozen-abreast

dropping scat
like an asphalt re-pave

     rats

stretching further than Frank's weak beam
lets him see

snarled & squirming
up each other's butts
over each other's backs
mindlessly jockeying
     for position

Mumbai traffic jam

rats.

Frank kicks a dropout
that's stopped to feed

skirts a dirty-dozen fucking like Saturday night in rat-town.

It's always Saturday night in rat-town.

Just above
nestled in a nook
Mother Raven
taking a break
from the turning world
looks on with seen-it-all eyes
and a seen-it-all attitude.

Though they frequent
the same establishments
Ma Raven hates rats
  for their secretive ways.

Procession slows
fans out
flanks a scene
illuminated from a street-lit
storm grate.

Frank kills his pen-light
holds his breath
exhales real slow
   jaw-dropping.

Looks like
Saturday night
in rat-town
has turned into
Solemn High
      Sunday
    in Rat-Rome.

Sewer rat
Wharf rat
Ground rat
Tree rat
Field rat
Water rat

acolytes

up on their hind legs

Cassocks
rag and tatterered
black and stained

scarlet skull caps

puffing ce-gars and cigarettes
blowing smoke around over up to

There-He-Sits

on a white-metal lawn chair rocker
up on cinder blocks

SAINT IGNATZ

HIMSELF

naked

fat and pasty pale

rat-faced

Saint Ignatz

smile beaming

incisors clicking
so much joy in rat-town

Alleluia…Alleluia

blue smoke swirls
rising
up into light

furry chatter
loud louder

Frank
doubles over
gasping
dry-heaves

diverts attention

and

Ignatz

      Patron Saint of Rats

pins his pink eyes on Frankie

stands on ancient legs

and points

his pale and palsied

index finger…


To be Continued








Wednesday, July 23, 2014

(4) FRANK'S ENCHANTED WORLD VAUDEVILLE (starring Frank)




BACK & FORTH AND…

Frank spent a big chunk of time
hitch-hiking back and forth across America

Back & forth and
Back & forth and
Back & forth.

One day
hitching through Colorado
Frank caught a ride
with America himself

America
be-frocked
     in the red-white-and-blue
crossing country
in a rag-top black Cadillac
with his road buddies
Custer & Crook
heading for heroin-heaven
Bakersfield, California.

Mexican-Brown
they called it,
rhapsody and reverie
all in one.

Somewhere near Creede
America asked Frank to drive
so they could fix up
in their big back seat.

Frank
having neither license
nor clue
but being Frank
took the wheel
and lead-footing way over the speed limit
drove straight off the Continental Divide
into the galactic dome.

Those poor
  fucked-up
     junkies

one with a needle in his arm
one with a rubber hose in his teeth
and one with his finger tips on fire

got bucked
up and out
far beyond the Caddie's arc
to re-enter Earth's atmosphere

as three comets

thinking it was the trip of their lives

and it was.

Frank
white-knuckling
the steering wheel
and shouting to Gawd-Almighty

tumbled
down
down
    and
    down

dumping that car
in the flood swollen
Rio Grande
and slick as a panting Labrador
scrambled up to the highway
to catch a lift
with an 18-wheeler
heading for the Great Salt Lake.

When Frank told the trucker
about America & Company

(just to help him stay awake)

he pulled off the road
and kicked Frank out of the cab

all he said was -

Bullshit walks.  You are outta here, mother-fucker.

A harsh reaction, but they had hit Utah.

Frank's
next piece of luck
was a rental
and a pretty girl
from Cambridge, Mass.
heading for the airport.

She was to teach him
the pleasures
of flying

and put
all that

back & forth and

behind him.





Tuesday, July 8, 2014

(3) FRANK'S ENCHANTED WORLD VAUDEVILLE (starring Frank)



FRANK SR.

One sober night, Frank talked about his dad.

You know, he said, Frank Sr. was a conjure man, and he had a way of magic that wasn't like all those other old men who called themselves conjurers.

Dad didn't rattle bones, or blow cigar smoke, or chant mumbo-jumbo, and he didn't summon nada and call it something.  He didn't do of that phony scare-you-to-death stuff.  He did something real, and a whole lot deeper.

Dad had this beautiful Stetson hat he called his "Stag O'Lee"

Black beaver
tall crown
wide brim.
He wore it to special occasions, and when he got home, he'd fix himself a whiskey, light a cigarette, balance his hat on the table - tilted on the crown - and here's what

He would look inside
and watch his whole day
play back in living color

That hat was like the 11 o'clock news.

A few times, if I'd been out with him, he'd mix up some milk and cherry brandy for me, and let me watch.

That was fun stuff - and I liked that milk.

But the real deal with daddy and his Stetson would happen when I wasn't supposed to be around, and had to sneak my way to watch.

Run-down saloons'
back rooms

forty watt
bare bulb
spiderwebs & dust

stained old
round old
old oak tables
rickety chairs with cane backs

Old timers
women and men
in dark clothes

drinking whiskey sugar sweet
with 7-Up or Coke
smoking up a blue haze

No music, no talk, no sideways glances
no sign of life except they were upright
drinking and smoking
And daddy
up on a stage
reaching
into some dry wells
and dark holes
of who knows who's soul
running centuries of memories
moving his hat in a long arc
over those hunched over dark clothed
women and men

Good times would rise up
young men young women fast cars
fast smiles
babies

Hard times
house fires - cyclones - divorce - loss

Worse times
brothers sisters gone missing
cancer - war

I could feel those things

Those old timers
I don't know
what they felt
sitting
enraptured
sipping their drinks
smoking

sometimes shuddering just a little
sometimes a sob, sometimes a cackle

a revival in reverse

until daddy finished
that long sweep
of his hat -

and

end of show
time to go

those old timers -
stunned

moving slow

one by one
or two by two - helping each other
out
into
bright light or
dark night

time of day
depending on them alone

by what they saw
or what they remembered
or how they felt.

Room empty, dad would salute the surroundings with an old fashioned flourish - hat in the air, and a deep, sweeping bow -

and vanish

just
like
that.

Uh-huh.

Dad went to deep places, and he paid by being like the air.  He didn't belong to anyone, and there was no keeping him in one place,

until finally he was gone - just like the air.

Anyway, that was Frank Sr., that was my dad,

I don't do that stuff, and wouldn't want to know how anyhow.

Things happen to me
     I just don't inflict them
          on others.











Wednesday, July 2, 2014

(2) FRANK'S ENCHANTED WORLD VAUDEVILLE (starring Frank) #2




INDEPENDENCE NOIR
        (respectful nods)








The morning of
his thirtieth birthday

Frank woke up

eyes a-flutter
then tight shut

in a hotel bed

right arm out

alone.

OK -
except
he remembers -

somebody.

No false moves now
Frank rolls slow
up to his elbow
eyes slit

nothing

     something -

nagging.

Bathroom
dark
leaves lights off

wet towels wet floor

robe crumbled in corner
torch tossed in tub
tiara hanging on shower head.

Must-a been some party, Frank.

Cigarette butt
in the sink
American Spirit
lipstick on the filter -

Her?

I don't recall, Your Honor.


Frank
throws the butt in the toilet
splashes water
wakes up a little less dead
gets dressed -

Where's my hat?

His star-spangled baseball cap.

Son-of-a-gun, she took my hat.

Shakes his head slow
skulks out the room
leaves by the stairs
won't trust his stomach to the elevator.

sunlight

Chinatown breakfast
over greasy and ham
rice
wonderbread - lots of jam
weak coffee

mumbles some give and get
with the cashier
not really up for bi-lingual banter
pays up - walks out
scans the street
looking for relief and -

Hey!  That's my hat!

Star spangled
waiting for a bus

Number 14 pulls up
just like that and
just like that
out.

Frank watches to
crest of hill and
gone…

gone.

Slumps on bench
looks at feet
smells cigarette smoke

American Spirit -
lipstick on the filter

picks it up
thinks about it

takes the last hit.

OK, keep the damn hat.

Frank color of concrete
fades into the city

city fades to black

firecrackers in the alley

with liberty and justice
for all.

             



                     ROCK SALT AND NAILS