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in the dark corners of
bars

the crazy things he'd say
like
all shape is creation

he'd give you a nod
throw down a shot
and walk away
but

like a miracle
he had you wondering.

ron dreamed of angels
but love
is never
what it ought to be

his life was like a circus
wire walker
wandering aimlessly
day after day

and

one day

he disappeared
like the magicians dove

now

ron was a warrior

outside the 7- 11
were
his x-wife worked
with her knee high sock
he hung himself
laughter and love
relentless as time and neon lights...sarah

...beneath the lids
your eyes grow fixed
on the edge of dark
relentless as time and neon lights
on the brink of the void

in the shadow of the moth
perhaps finding that
elusive peace
another poem about sarah. "in memory of sarah" is perhaps a little clearer as to our relationship?
May 4 · 111
go crazy
(a two minute 43 second play)

act I.

scene I:  summer and a side street
somewhere...usa.

sam says, "we'll take off all our clothes. riding in the car people will think we just have our shirts off."

George complies.

sam and George run ***** through mrs. jays bar.
"YEEEAAH," the people cheer.

act II .

scene II: gas station

George gets dumped by his long time girlfriend. sam suggests they pour gasoline and set her lawn on fire. George agrees. (alcohol drank at the graveyard bar may have been a factor.)

"a $1.32, please," sam says.

"what?" the gasoline attendant asks. apparently, reluctant
to pour gas into a bucket held by a ***** sam.

plan changes:

"let's run ***** through regina's house." George suggests.
"sounds good to me." sam smiles.

act III

scene 3: the two men arrive at regina's house.

"i'll ring the door bell and hold the door open for you and
i'll be right behind you."

someone opens the door. the men rush in. regina and her mother scream. the father cluches his chest. (possible heart attack)

next day:

George apologizes to regina and 6 months later they get married.

curtain comes down.

narrator, wearing a tuxedo, comes through the curtain onto the stage:

"when you're dead
you're going to be dead
a long             l    o    n    g   time.


"GO CRAZY."
based on a true story.

writing should be fun and I need not reach for the sublime all the time.
Apr 12 · 564
i, bank robber
I walk through the door
the manager walks past turns
and stares as if he has forgotten
to say something
but i'm on fire
I hold the withdrawl thing in my right hand
the tellers are all so
willing to help
I walk over to the teller
the most nervous one
use my withdrawl slip
slide it across the polished counter
she hands me a pen
tries to smile
i make my withdrawl
get my money
and
slip the pen
slowly
carefully into my
back pocket
and through an open window
tiny red eyes and little feet
roam the 4 corners of my prison  
where the dice roll
but never fall.

hang on st Christopher
former saint
taken off the calendar
with no wings to take flight

aspirations
like the shadows casted
by the corner boys
as sunset approaches
i'll follow you down

into the tall grass
where the lions wait for  
shattered dreamers

I sit and pray
wondering if the barbed wire
faces in or out and

standing I push the toilet handle down
watch the water swirl and go down

st Cristopher
don't leave me here
Mar 19 · 134
a short short story
a party

an argument

the guy breaks a beer bottle
shoves it into arty's neck

don,t go           anywhere
harry tells arty

don't worry

I won't
says arty


arty 17


forever.
a  heart is on the loose
left me on the street of
bruised knees that
turned a kiss into ashes

a heart is on the loose
so the night goes hunting
so the night comes running

long black hair and big brown eyes
caring and sweet and kind and
I still feel the soft touch of that first kiss

I should fly away
but the heart knows
i'm going to stay

an angel has clipped my wings

WARNING:
leave the angels alone
Dec 2018 · 643
portrait of a seeker
guy scutellaro Dec 2018
she wants to see
what the eagle
sees so

 she puts on her dancing
shoes to ride
the waves of wind

walking among the meadows of time
always near and always far
she
searches for the beautiful poem
never realizes
she is the poem

the dreamer of good dreams
fears not a ghostly wind
  
the good dreamer
as clear as mountain lake
seeks the fruit of life
the sweetness
the truth of life
with a heart and mind
that are one.

this rose has no thorns
Nov 2018 · 873
lunatics
guy scutellaro Nov 2018
...bobby stole a car
george jumped
through
the open back window
we tied robbie up
left him on some ones porch
were surprized when
the spainish people carried
him into the house
(so much for robbie)
we egged chamburg's parents
put a box on a porch
with john inside
rang the doorbell and
ran
across the street to hide behind a car
john jumped out
the lady screamed
the husband yelled
john ran
came back the next night
attached a long cord to
the empty box
rang the doorbell....

hang on st. Christopher

the moon
        was never fuller.
guy scutellaro Nov 2018
(last chapter)


Hearing something, he turns and looks out of his open door to see Mr. Martin go shuffling by wearing a bath robe and one red slipper. Jack hears Martin's door close and then for thirty seconds the old man screams, "AAHHH, AAAHHH, AAAAHHHHH." After that the building is quiet, and Jack listens to his own labored breathing.

A glance at the clock tells him it is  a few minutes to 7 a.m. Jack hurries from his room into the hallway. They pass each other on the stairs. The big man is coming up the stairs and Jack is going down to the bar to see O'Malley.

Jack has committed a trespass. The big man looks down as Delleto turns. "Hello, Jack, brother." The man smiles, slides the brim of his Giants baseball cap across his forehead and then continues up the stairs.

Jack watches him. When Paul Keater reaches the top of  the stairs the red exit light flickers like a candle above Keater's head and then goes out. An instant later the sound of a door closing echoes down the hallway to the bottom of the steps.


Jack Delleto is standing in the doorway at the bottom of the steps looking out onto the wet, bright street.

"Hey, Jack, man it's good to see you. I heard you were dead."

Jack turns, looks over his shoulder. "Felix! How the **** have you been?"

The two men shake hands, then embrace momentarily.

"Ah, things don't get any better and they don't get any worse." The old man shrugs and then he smiles, but his brown eyes are dull and Jack can smell the cheap wine on the old man's breath. "When are you gonna come back to the gym and start workin out? Man, you've got something, Kid, and we're going places.

"Yea, Felix, I'll be coming back. " Jack extends his hand to  Felix. The old fighter smiles and they shake hands. Suddenly, Felix takes off down Main Street towards the Food Town super market walking quickly as if he has someplace important to go.

Jack is curious. He sees the rope when he starts walking towards the Wagon Wheel bar. One end of the rope is tied around the parking meter pole. The rest of the rope extends across the sidewalk and disappears  into the entrance of the bar. The rattling of a chain catches his attention and when the dog's huge white head pops out of the bar doorway Jack is startled. Jack stops dead in his tracks and as he spins around to run, he slips and falls to the wet pavement.

The big, white mutt growls, woofs once and comes charging down the sidewalk at him.

The rope is quickly growing shorter. It stretches until meets its end, tightens, and then snaps. Now, unimpeded by the tension of the rope the mutt comes hurtling down the sidewalk at Delleto

Frighten, Jack's body grows tense with the anticipation of the attack. Jack starts to stand up, makes it to his knees just as the dog bowls into him knocking him to the grown. The huge dog has him pin down, goes right for his face.

And begins licking him.

Relieved, Jack struggles to his knees and hugs her tightly to him. He looks over her shoulder and across Main Street to the graffiti painted on the boarded shut Delleto Market.

                           FANTASY WILL SET YOU FREE.

                                           The End


Henry David Thoreau, "I left... for as good a reason as I went there. Perhaps it seemed to me that I had several more lives to live, and could not spare any more time for that one"

my thanks to hello poetry for letting me put in stories which are not poetry. I thought some of it would work as short stories. eventually I decided to put chapters in order. once a did that I felt compelled to see it to the end.

Mostly, I created a big mess.
guy scutellaro Oct 2018
(follows  Jack slides towards the darkness)




The rain turns to snow.

With each lunging step he takes pain throps in his arm and shoulder socket. His raw throat aches from the great drafts of cold air he ***** through his gaping mouth and although his legs ache, he does not pause to look back. Jack must keep punching holes with his ice axe probing for crevasses.

The pole slips effortlessly into the snow. "******, another one.!"

Moonlight coats the glacier and the mountain looms over him. It is four in the morning and he needs to be high on the mountain before the morning sun softens the snow. Jack moves carefully, quietly, humblely to avoid a fall into an abyss. When he reaches the top of the couloir the wind begins to howl. He has a pounding headache.

"Da da Dun , da da dun, hey purple haze all around my brain, lately things don't seem the same, don't know what's happen, is this a dream? Whatever it is, that girl put a spell on me..." Jack thinks the song is in his head but then the electric guitar notes float down the mountain through the huge blocks of ice that litter the glacier.

It stops snowing as he makes his way up up the ridge following the music and at the top, standing on an arête , is Jimi, his long dexterous fingers flying over the guitar strings at 741 m.p.h.

"Wait a minute, " Jack wonders suspiciously, stopping him dead in his tracks. "Am I dreamin...ah what the ****. PURPLE HAZE ALL IN MY BRAIN," Jack shouts. The sun is hitting the distant wind blown peaks. Hw swings his ice axe around strumming it like a guitar, and then he continues singing. "LATELY THINGS DON'T SEEM THE SAME, GOT ME LAUGHIN AND I DON'T KNOW WHY..."

                                      *   *  **

Slowly the door moans open.

"Jack, " her voice startles him. "Are you awake?"

"Yeah, I'm  awake.

"What's the matter, Jack.  Can't you sleep?"

Jack shifts position on the chair. "Oh, I can sleep, alright." He recognizes the voice of the shadow. "I want to climb to some high alpine meadow." He tells her."

"A belly that's empty hurts," The shadow replies. "I miss you, Jack Delleto.

"I'm glad someone does. I miss you, too."

There is silence for several minutes and then her voice comes out of the darkness again.

"Jack, you forgot something that night."

"What?" The dark shape moves towards him. When she is in front of him, Jack stands slipping his arms around her waist.

"You didn't kiss me goodbye."

Her lips are soft and warm. Her arms tighten around his neck and the warmth of her body comes to him through the cold night.

"Jack, what's the matter? She raises her head to look at him in the darkness." Jack, why your crying."

"Yeah, I'm crying."

"Don't cry, Darlin," her lips are soft against his ear. " I can't bear to see you unhappy. Tell me you love me."

"I love you, I do," Jack softy whispers.

"Hold me, Jack, hold me tighter.

"I'll never let you go." He tries to hug the shadow tighter.


The dread begins to grow. Jack Delleto explodes back into consciousness. Instantly, he sits up ******* drafts of cold air coming into his room from the open window. He gets up  off of the chair and walks over to the sink. Jack turns on the cold water and bending forward splashes the water on his face. Dripping, he looks at his reflection in the mirror. His eyes meet.

(continues ) from his eyes meet,
guy scutellaro Oct 2018
last chapter.

Hearing something, he turns and looks out of his open door to see Mr. Martin go shuffling by wearing a bath robe and one red slipper. Jack hears Martin's door close and then for thirty seconds the old man screams, "AAHHH, AAAHHH, AAAAHHHHH." After that the building is quiet, and Jack listens to his own labored breathing.

A glance at the clock tells him it is  a few minutes to 7 a.m. Jack hurries from his room into the hallway. They pass each other on the stairs. The big man is coming up the stairs and Jack is going down to the bar to see O'Malley.

Jack has committed a trespass. The big man looks down as Delleto turns. "Hello, Jack, brother." The man smiles, slides the brim of his Giants baseball cap across his forehead and then continues up the stairs.

Jack watches him. When Paul Keater reaches the top of  the stairs the red exit light flickers like a candle above Keater's head and then goes out. An instant later the sound of a door closing echoes down the hallway to the bottom of the steps.


Jack Delleto is standing in the doorway at the bottom of the steps looking out onto the wet, bright street.

"Hey, Jack, man it's good to see you. I heard you were dead."

Jack turns, looks over his shoulder. "Felix! How the **** have you been?"

The two men shake hands, then embrace momentarily.

"Ah, things don't get any better and they don't get any worse." The old man shrugs and then he smiles, but his brown eyes are dull and Jack can smell the cheap wine on the old man's breath. "When are you gonna come back to the gym and start workin out? Man, you've got something, Kid, and we're going places.

"Yea, Felix, I'll be coming back. " Jack extends his hand to  Felix. The old fighter smiles and they shake hands. Suddenly, Felix takes off down Main Street towards the Food Town super market walking quickly as if he has someplace important to go.

Jack is curious. He sees the rope when he starts walking towards the Wagon Wheel bar. One end of the rope is tied around the parking meter pole. The rest of the rope extends across the sidewalk and disappears  into the entrance of the bar. The rattling of a chain catches his attention and when the dog's huge white head pops out of the bar doorway Jack is startled. Jack stops dead in his tracks and as he spins around to run, he slips and falls to the wet pavement.

The big, white mutt growls, woofs once and comes charging down the sidewalk at him.

The rope is quickly growing shorter. It stretches until meets its end, tightens, and then snaps. Now, unimpeded by the tension of the rope the mutt comes hurtling down the sidewalk at Delleto

Frighten, Jack's body grows tense with the anticipation of the attack. Jack starts to stand up, makes it to his knees just as the dog bowls into him knocking him to the grown. The huge dog has him pin down, goes right for his face.

And begins licking him.

Relieved, Jack struggles to his knees and hugs her tightly to him. He looks over her shoulder and across Main Street to the graffiti painted on the boarded shut Delleto Market.

                           FANTASY WILL SET YOU FREE.

                                           The End


Henry David Thoreau, "I left... for as good a reason as I went there. Perhaps it seemed to me that I had several more lives to live, and could not spare any more time for that one"

my thanks to hello poetry for letting me put in stories which are not poetry. thanks to the people who have read some of it.

originally, I started with the idea some chapters of a novel I wrote might work as a short story. larger portions of the novel have been left out. at some point I decided to put the chapters that I included in order of occurrence. the result: a little bit of  a mess.

my solution and it might be an innovation but i'm going  put a note for the reader to put the chapters in any order they like. Ha, ha.
guy scutellaro Oct 2018
(follows  Jack slides towards the darkness)


The rain turns to snow.

With each lunging step he takes pain throps in his arm and shoulder socket. His raw throat aches from the great drafts of cold air he ***** through his gaping mouth and although his legs ache, he does not pause to look back. Jack must keep punching holes with his ice axe probing for crevasses.

The pole slips effortlessly into the snow. "******, another one.!"

Moonlight coats the glacier and the mountain looms over him. It is four in the morning and he needs to be high on the mountain before the morning sun softens the snow. Jack moves carefully, quietly, humblely to avoid a fall into an abyss. When he reaches the top of the couloir the wind begins to howl. He has a pounding headache.

"Da da Dun , da da dun, hey purple haze all around my brain, lately things don't seem the same, don't know what's happen, is this a dream? Whatever it is, that girl put a spell on me..." Jack thinks the song is in his head but then the electric guitar notes float down the mountain through the huge blocks of ice that litter the glacier.

It stops snowing as he makes his way up up the ridge following the music and at the top, standing on an arête , is Jimi, his long dexterous fingers flying over the guitar strings at 741 m.p.h.

"Wait a minute, " Jack wonders suspiciously, stopping him dead in his tracks. "Am I dreamin...ah what the ****. PURPLE HAZE ALL IN MY BRAIN," Jack shouts. The sun is hitting the distant wind blown peaks. Hw swings his ice axe around strumming it like a guitar, and then he continues singing. "LATELY THINGS DON'T SEEM THE SAME, GOT ME LAUGHIN AND I DON'T KNOW WHY..."

                                      *   *  **

Slowly the door moans open.

"Jack, " her voice startles him. "Are you awake?"

"Yeah, I'm  awake.

"What's the matter, Jack.  Can't you sleep?"

Jack shifts position on the chair. "Oh, I can sleep, alright." He recognizes the voice of the shadow. "I want to climb to some high alpine meadow." He tells her."

"A belly that's empty hurts," The shadow replies. "I miss you, Jack Delleto.

"I'm glad someone does. I miss you, too."

There is silence for several minutes and then her voice comes out of the darkness again.

"Jack, you forgot something that night."

"What?" The dark shape moves towards him. When she is in front of him, Jack stands slipping his arms around her waist.

"You didn't kiss me goodbye."

Her lips are soft and warm. Her arms tighten around his neck and the warmth of her body comes to him through the cold night.

"Jack, what's the matter? She raises her head to look at him in the darkness." Jack, why your crying."

"Yeah, I'm crying."

"Don't cry, Darlin," her lips are soft against his ear. " I can't bear to see you unhappy. Tell me you love me."

"I love you, I do," Jack softy whispers.

"Hold me, Jack, hold me tighter.

"I'll never let you go." He tries to hug the shadow tighter.


The dread begins to grow. Jack Delleto explodes back into consciousness. Instantly, he sits up ******* drafts of cold air coming into his room from the open window. He gets up  off of the chair and walks over to the sink. Jack turns on the cold water and bending forward splashes the water on his face. Dripping, he looks at his reflection in the mirror. His eyes meet.

(continues ) from his eyes meet, one more chapter.)
guy scutellaro Oct 2018
(picks up after "you 'll produce love and dreams. jack has moved into a room above the bar.)

second to last chapter


Jack goes into the room. A place he thought he would never end up. He studies it. The light from the unshaded lamp on the nightstand casts a huge shadow of him onto the adjacent wall. There is not much to the small room, a sink with a mirror above it next to the dresser, a bed pushed against the wall, and wooden chair in front of a narrow window.

It is raining.

Jack feels apprehensive. The panic turns to anger. His anger into rage. He rushes towards the white wall, meets his shadow, and explodes with a left hook. He throws the right uppercut , the over hand right, the left hook again. He punches the wall and his knuckles bleed. He punches the wall and when his arms are useless, he begins kicking the wall.

At last exhausted, Jack collapses into the chair in front of the window. Fist size holes in the bloodstained plaster revel the bones of the building. The room has been punched and kicked without mercy. The austere room has one.

Desperately, Jack takes the yellow note pad with the pencil in the binder from the night stand, and although he tries, no words will come.

Exasperated, and with the stub of the pencil he writes, "Insomnia , the absence of all dreams." and then he smiles.

He reaches for the lamp on the night stand, finds the switch, and  turns off the light.

The  Wagon Wheel sign outside the window seems to throb to the cadence of the rock music coming from the bar downstairs. Taking the Quaalude from his shirt pocket, he swallows it and sits back in chair watching the shadows of rain bleed down the door. His thoughts come slower. The darkness around him intensifies . Jack slides toward the darkness.

                                           * **

The rain turns to snow.

With each lunging step he takes the pain throbs in his arm and shoulder socket. His raw throat aches from the great drafts of cold air he ***** through his gaping mouth and although his legs ache, he does not pause to look back. Jack must keep punching holes with his ace axe probing the snow for crevasses.

The pole of the ice axe slips effortlessly into the snow. "**** it, another one."


(continues)
guy scutellaro Oct 2018
(follows  Jack slides towards the darkness)


The rain turns to snow.

With each lunging step he takes pain throps in his arm and shoulder socket. His raw throat aches from the great drafts of cold air he ***** through his gaping mouth and although his legs ache, he does not pause to look back. Jack must keep punching holes with his ice axe probing for crevasses.

The pole slips effortlessly into the snow. "******, another one.!"

Moonlight coats the glacier and the mountain looms over him. It is four in the morning and he needs to be high on the mountain before the morning sun softens the snow. Jack moves carefully, quietly, humblely to avoid a fall into an abyss. When he reaches the top of the couloir the wind begins to howl. He has a pounding headache.

"Da da Dun , da da dun, hey purple haze all around my brain, lately things don't seem the same, don't know what's happen, is this a dream? Whatever it is, that girl put a spell on me..." Jack thinks the song is in his head but then the electric guitar notes float down the mountain through the huge blocks of ice that litter the glacier.

It stops snowing as he makes his way up up the ridge following the music and at the top, standing on an arête , is Jimi, his long dexterous fingers flying over the guitar strings at 741 m.p.h.

"Wait a minute, " Jack wonders suspiciously, stopping him dead in his tracks. "Am I dreamin...ah what the ****. PURPLE HAZE ALL IN MY BRAIN," Jack shouts. The sun is hitting the distant wind blown peaks. Hw swings his ice axe around strumming it like a guitar, and then he continues singing. "LATELY THINGS DON'T SEEM THE SAME, GOT ME LAUGHIN AND I DON'T KNOW WHY..."

                                      *   *  **

Slowly the door moans open.

"Jack, " her voice startles him. "Are you awake?"

"Yeah, I'm  awake.

"What's the matter, Jack.  Can't you sleep?"

Jack shifts position on the chair. "Oh, I can sleep, alright." He recognizes the voice of the shadow. "I want to climb to some high alpine meadow." He tells her."

"A belly that's empty hurts," The shadow replies. "I miss you, Jack Delleto.

"I'm glad someone does. I miss you, too."

There is silence for several minutes and then her voice comes out of the darkness again.

"Jack, you forgot something that night."

"What?" The dark shape moves towards him. When she is in front of him, Jack stands slipping his arms around her waist.

"You didn't kiss me goodbye."

Her lips are soft and warm. Her arms tighten around his neck and the warmth of her body comes to him through the cold night.

"Jack, what's the matter? She raises her head to look at him in the darkness." Jack, why your crying."

"Yeah, I'm crying."

"Don't cry, Darlin," her lips are soft against his ear. " I can't bear to see you unhappy. Tell me you love me."

"I love you, I do," Jack softy whispers.

"Hold me, Jack, hold me tighter.

"I'll never let you go." He tries to hug the shadow tighter.


The dread begins to grow. Jack Delleto explodes back into consciousness. Instantly, he sits up ******* drafts of cold air coming into his room from the open window. He gets up  off of the chair and walks over to the sink. Jack turns on the cold water and bending forward splashes the water on his face. Dripping, he looks at his reflection in the mirror. His eyes meet.

(continues )
guy scutellaro Oct 2018
(picks up after "you 'll produce love and dreams. jack has moved into a room above the bar.)



Jack goes into the room. A place he thought he never end up. He studies it. The light from the unshaded lamp on the nightstand casts a huge shadow of him onto the adjacent wall. There is not much to the small room, a sink with a mirror above it next to the dresser, a bed pushed against the wall, and wooden chair in front of a narrow window.

It is raining.

Jack feels apprehensive. The panic turns to anger. His anger into rage. He rushes towards the white wall, meets his shadow, and explodes with a left hook. He throws the right uppercut , the over hand right, the left hook again. He punches the wall and his knuckles bleed. He punches the wall and when his arms are useless, he begins kicking the wall.

At last exhausted, Jack collapses into the chair in front of the window. Fist size holes in the bloodstained plaster revel the bones of the building. The room has been punched and kicked without mercy. The austere room has one.

Desperately, Jack takes the yellow note pad with the pencil in the binder from the night stand, and although he tries, no words will come.

Exasperated, and with the stub of the pencil he writes, "Insomnia , the absence of all dreams." and then he smiles.

He reaches for the lamp on the night stand, finds the switch, and  turns off the light.

The  Wagon Wheel sign outside the window seems to throb to the cadence of the rock music coming from the bar downstairs. Taking the Quaalude from his shirt pocket, he swallows it and sits back in chair watching the shadows of rain bleed down the door. His thoughts come slower. The darkness around him intensifies . Jack slides toward the darkness.

                                           * **

The rain turns to snow.

With each lunging step he takes the pain throbs in his arm and shoulder socket. His raw throat aches from the great drafts of cold air he ***** through his gaping mouth and although his legs ache, he does not pause to look back. Jack must keep punching holes with his ace axe probing the snow for crevasses.

The pole of the ice axe slips effortlessly into the snow. "**** it, another one.


(continues from "**** it, another one .)
guy scutellaro Oct 2018
(next night after Kathleen's birthday after the bar has closed.)


"It's too much," Jack looks  up from the two lines of white powder at Bob O'Malley. "I'll never be able to fall asleep and I hate not being able to sleep."

"Here take this." Bob hands Jack a Quaalude.

Jack drops the pill into his shirt pocket.  "No more." Jack hands the rolled up dollar bill to Bob who bends over. Bob can see his reflection in the pinball game glass. "Felix came in the other day," Bob says and then like a magician he makes the two likes of powder disappear. Straightening up, he looks at Jack. "Felix's is taking it hard."

"I know you are hurting Dell and I know you can't console the unconsolable.  I'm sorry about Kate."

Jack becomes quiet and then walks through the dark room over to the bar. Leaning over the bar, he grabs two shot glasses and a bottle of Wild Turkey. He fills the glasses.

When Jack goes back into the pool room he puts the shot glasses on the pinball machine. "One paragraph. Maybe thirty sentences including the headline to sum up twenty four years of Kate's life." He and Bob throw down the shots.

"Kate and now Bill Wain, "Bob says. Jack lights a cigarette. Bob continues, "Felix said Bill got knocked down four times, finished the fight, but lost consciousness in the dressing room and died two hours later. "Bob dumbs more white powder on the pinball machine and uses his credit card to divide into rows.

"I've had enough, "Jack say quietly. "I need to sleep."

"Oh you'll fall asleep. One, two, three days, you'll fall asleep."

"What's the longest you've stayed awake?"

"Five, six days." Bob fills the shot glasses. Jack takes his. They touch glasses and throw down the bourbon. He pours two more shots and they drink the whiskey.

"I wonder if animals dream?" Jack asks. "I wonder if dogs dream?"

"They do." Bob O Malley assures him, nodding his head. "Cats, squirrels, birds." Bob folds his arms and is smiling at Jack.

"Probably not insects."

"Oh they do. June bugs and ants, fleas and moths. It's like love. Dreams are biochemical. Mix the right combination of chemicals and you'll produce love and dreams."

(continues)                         **    
guy scutellaro Oct 2018
(Kathleen's birthday.  continued from the carousel, part 2)


"Daddy," the little girl has her hands folded and is looking up at her father. "When will it stop? I want to get on."

"Soon, darling," her father assures her.

"I don't think it'll ever stop." The little girl says.

"Sweetie it'll stop." Daddy takes her gently by the hand, gently squeezes. "See it's stopping now."


When the carousel slows down but has not quite stopped, Kathleen steps onto the platform and grabs the brass support pole. The momentum of the machine grabs her with a **** onto the ride and into a white horse with big blue eyes. Dropping her cigarette, she takes hold of the pole that goes through the center of the horse. She struggles to put her foot into the stirrup, finds it, and throws her leg over the horse. The carousel music begins to play. The ride trembles and starts with a jolt.

A man is staring at Kathleen. Sitting on the pony has made her short skirt ride well up on her shapely legs, but she is too drunk to care. When the man comes over, she hands him her ticket.

The ticket man goes over to the little girl and her daddy who are sitting in a gold chariot pulled by two red horses.

The little girl looks at her father, and says, "Ooooh, daddy, I love this."

The man smiles back and strokes his daughter's hair.


The heat makes the dizziness that Kathleen is feeling grow worse and as the ride picks up speed, she begins to see two of everything. There are two rows of pinball machines, eight flashing signs, and too many prize machines. The red , blue, and green lights from the ride signs blend together like when a car drives at night down a wet street. She feels the impulse to *****.

"Can we go on again?" The little girl asks.

"But honey the ride isn't over yet."

Kathleen finds that if she concentrates on other things the dizziness and the nausea become less severe. She tries to perceive the images as a montage like the elements that make up a painting or life. When she does this, and as she becomes accustom to the movement of the machine, the floating , spinning objects come together. The circling ride creates a cooling breeze and the blurring of lights becomes a beautiful waterfall.

The horses in front are always becoming the horses in the back and the horses in back are always turning into the horses in front. All horses gallop ahead. Settling back into the saddle, she follows them riding her white pony towards the receding waterfall.

You can lose all sense of the clock and who you are and that is alright with Kathleen. That is the way she feels. She has left something behind her. She does not know what, but whatever it is, the merry-go- round will chase it away.

She leans forward to embrace the ride.

Then just as suddenly as it started, the ride is slowing down. The music stops playing.

First she feels the heat and then the sickness in her stomach as the dizziness returns. Kathleen climbs down off the pony. She goes careening backwards and then she lunges for balance falling forward. The merry-go-round trembles, starts with a **** , and rights her. Slowly, it picks up speed bringing her to the exit of the building. Kathleen stumbles down off the platform and goes through the  exit door careening into a railing and almost falling into Wesley Lake.

All the terrible things that people did to her comes crawling back to her like the sounds of an animal dying in its hidden place. The wisdom is heavy and centers just below her naval.

She takes a few steps to the curb, hears the carousel music and knows the ride is beginning again. Kathleen sits down on the sidewalk curb and it all comes out choking her, taking her breath away. The ****** abuse, self doubt, the alienation and loneliness, it all comes out, and she is enlightened.

There is so much of it so she lies down facing a world of decaying buildings and broken dreams. Her marvelous mind holds a perfect picture of the memories. Years in various foster homes where she felt like she never had a home. 

 Her son comes and sits with her on the couch. Her arm around him as they listen to the din of thunder.

Jack's sad face stares up at her from the table where he is sitting on the night they met. "I'm one -third Sioux, " she tells him, tasting the smoke from her cigarette as she exhales, and he smiles at her so she sits down.

But the mockingbird is singing from the world of scattered thoughts and empty lots. The images shoot off into a dark land, exploding, illuminating, then growing dim and dimmer, light and warmth fading into cold and darkness.

(next part resumes with Jack  playing pool at the bar)
guy scutellaro Oct 2018
(Kathleen's birthday.  continued fromThe carousel, part 2)


"Daddy," the little girl has her hands folded and is looking up at her father. "When will it stop? I want to get on."

"Soon, darling," her father assures her.

"I don't think it'll ever stop." The little girl says.

"Sweetie it'll stop." Daddy takes her gently by the hand, gently squeezes. "See it's stopping now."


When the carousel slows down but has not quite stopped, Kathleen steps onto the platform and grabs the brass support pole. The momentum of the machine grabs her with a **** onto the ride and into a white horse with big blue eyes. Dropping her cigarette, she takes hold of the pole that goes through the center of the horse. She struggles to put her foot into the stirrup, finds it, and throws her leg over the horse. The carousel music begins to play. The ride trembles and starts with a jolt.

A man is staring at Kathleen. Sitting on the pony has made her short skirt ride well up on her shapely legs, but she is too drunk to care. When the man comes over, she hands him her ticket.

The ticket man goes over to the little girl and her daddy who are sitting in a gold chariot pulled by two red horses.

The little girl looks at her father, and says, "Ooooh, daddy, I love this."

The man smiles back and strokes his daughter's hair.


The heat makes the dizziness that Kathleen is feeling grow worse and as the ride picks up speed, she begins to see two of everything. There are two rows of pinball machines, eight flashing signs, and too many prize machines. The red , blue, and green lights from the ride signs blend together like when a car drives at night down a wet street. She feels the impulse to *****.

"Can we go on again?" The little girl asks.

"But honey the ride isn't over yet."

Kathleen finds that if she concentrates on other things the dizziness and the nausea become less severe. She tries to perceive the images as a montage like the elements that make up a painting or life. When she does this, and as she becomes accustom to the movement of the machine, the floating , spinning objects come together. The circling ride creates a cooling breeze and the blurring of lights becomes a beautiful waterfall.

The horses in front are always becoming the horses in the back and the horses in back are always turning into the horses in front. All horses gallop ahead. Settling back into the saddle, she follows them riding her white pony towards the receding waterfall.

You can lose all sense of the clock and who you are and that is alright with Kathleen. That is the way she feels. she has left something behind her. She does not know what, but whatever it is, the merry-go- round will chase it away.

She leans forward to embrace the ride.

Then just as suddenly as the it started, the ride is slowing down. The music stops playing.

First she feels the heat and then the sickness in her stomach as the dizziness returns.
guy scutellaro Sep 2018
( kate's birthday)


"How hot is?" Kathleen asks.

The bar is empty except for O Malley, Paul Keater, and a man and a woman.

"About 98.6," says Jack, the beads of sweat roll down his cheeks. He walks into the pool room to stand in front the big floor fan. Kathleen follows him.

"Let's go to the boardwalk," Kathleen suggests.

"When it's hot like this it's hot all over."

"We can go on the rides."

"I don't like the rides."

"It might be fun. You promised me we'd go on the rides."

"I've got the next pool game." Jack says, and then he glances at Paul Keater who is playing pool.

Paul takes his shot. The eight ball drops. Keater slides the brim of his baseball cap back and fourth across his sweat soaked forehead.
"Ah ****,"  Keater murmurs.

"Jack, how do I look to you?" She is wearing a too short skirt, black nylon stockings, and a tight blue t-shirt.

"Beautiful as always."

" Then why do you pay more attention to Paul than you do to me? A man you despise. You're not ******* Keater, are you?"

"Kate," he tells her, "you're drunk again."

"Why do you hate Paul?"

"He lives above the bar.  He's a drug addict. Tells everyone he served in Irag. You don't lie about a thing like that."

" Your in the bar just about every night."

"There's a difference between coming to the bar and living above it."

Jack just be honest with me?"

Maybe it is the heat or alcohol or frustration.

  Jack tells Kate." My dad sobered up and left me and my mom. Apparently, the old ******* was quite a nice man when he stopped drinking. Took Keater to baseball games and places. Keater is my half brother. The half I don't like."


Kathleen is silent for several minutes and then she says to Jack, " I'm not drunk yet, but I'm sure as **** going to be. It's my birthday."

"I bought you flowers."

"Yeah, carnations," She turns a mirthless smile towards Jack, "You don't care."

"Ah come on. All I wanna do is play one lousy game of pool, and then we'll go down to the boardwalk. I promise." Delleto grips her gently by the shoulders and steers her towards the bar.

Kathleen sits down on a bar stool. She watches Jack play pool and when he wins, she turns towards the bar to face O' Malley who is standing behind the bar,  arms folded, watching a horse race on TV.

"It's my birthday, " Kathleen tells O' Malley. She crosses her long legs and when she turns from the horse race, he notices.

"Hey, happy birthday Kate, at least twenty-one, I hope, " Bob says playfully, and he takes two shot glasses from the shelf. He puts a glass in front of Kathleen. "Jack Daniels?"

"Fine," She tells him.

O" Malley fills the glasses. They touch glasses. "Happy birthday Kate." Bob smiles.

"Thanks, " She pouts, " at least someone cares." They throw down the shots.

"Hope Jack won't mind," O' Malley says, but before Kate can answer he leans over the bar and kisses her on the lips.

Kathleen looks over her shoulder at Delleto. Jack is playing pool with a thin woman wearing a black leather halter top. The woman comes over to Jack, says something and when she smiles at Delleto her teeth sparkle like tombstones after a  hard rain.

Jack smiles and says something to the woman. The boyfriend  stares angrily at Delleto.

When Kathleen turns back O' Malley is filling her shot glass.

Jack wins that game, too.  


A big yellow moon hangs above the decaying Casino Amusements that extends across the boardwalk. " I'm through waiting for Jack." Kathleen looks up at the flashing marque sign that proclaims games,  prizes and fun. Kathleen staggers into the great hall into the smell of pop corn, and the clack, clack of the game wheels.

It is one in the morning and as she totters pass the water guns and over to the ticket booth beside the merry-go-round she sees the arcade is almost empty.

Inside the ticket booth the man stares down at Kathleen as the sweat rolls down his bulbos nose  collecting a tiny pool on the counter.

"What do ya want?" He asks curtly, tries to relight the stub of his cigar. He points to the blue and white sign nailed to the top of the booth. With the unlit cigar hanging from the corner of his mouth he impatiently recites the sign to the drunken lady, "House of Mirrors, The Whip, Bumper cars, Merry-go- round."

"Jack would never go on that. He'd think it was too silly," Kathleen mutters. "The merry-go -round," She tells him, pushing a ten dollar bill across the pitted  wooden counter.

The man takes the bill, tears five tickets off the big roll of tickets, and pushes them through the opening at the bottom of the bars.

"Hey, I only want one ticket," she slurs.

"Closing time, Babe, closing time," The weasel faced man says hanging up the Closed Sign from the window.

Kathleen takes the tickets, "Hey, wait a min."

"BOOM!" a balloon explodes from the water gun game. Kathleen jumps. She takes the tickets from her shirt pocket, lights up a cigarette, and the makes her way over to the carousel.

Kathleen stares at it. It is such a fantastic machine. There are mirrors on the inside walls of the ride and pulsating red and blue lights along the perimeter of its fluted roof. She thinks the horses themselves are the most beautiful creatures. There are white, black, brown and even red ponies. All the horses have intricately painted saddles of coordinated colors and long cascading manes. There faces are alive with fear and passion as if a spirit has been molded into their plastic skin.

(Kate's birthday will continue)
her
Sep 2018 · 2.7k
a candle in the night
guy scutellaro Sep 2018
the x wife calls
tells me the children miss me.
her voice
a mirror of broken glass
fragments falling into
the touch of sadness
in your fingers
the soft laughter
of your eyes like a candle
in the night

tonight
twilight comes to play
whispering in my night
quick as life
I hear the sadness
quick as life
I can hear the regret

I 've wounded you

I can only be
what I was
meant to be

I am the candle without the wick

excuse me, I've got to go.
guy scutellaro Sep 2018
( kate's birthday)


"How hot is?" Kathleen asks.

The bar is empty except for O Malley, Paul Keater, and a man and a woman.

"About 98.6," says Jack, the beads of sweat roll down his cheeks. He walks into the pool room to stand in front the big floor fan Kathleen follows him.

"Let's go to the boardwalk," Kathleen suggests.

"When it's hot like this it's hot all over."

"We can go on the rides."

"I don't like the rides."

"It might be fun. You promised me we'd go on the rides."

"I've got the next pool game." Jack says, and then he glances at Paul Keater who is playing pool.

Paul takes his shot. The eight ball drops. Keater slides the brim of his baseball cap back and fourth across his sweat soaked forehead.
"Ah ****,"  Keater murmurs.

"Jack, how do I look to you?" She is wearing a too short skirt, black nylon stockings, and a tight blue t-shirt."
guy scutellaro Sep 2018
(Jack is taking Kate to her apartment after O'Malley's wedding reception)


Through the familiar, haunted streets Jack drives the old Mustang fast back. The car rattles by the unkempt houses and broken down cars. He makes a left to Dunlewy Street and pulls the car behind a station wagon. Tangled in the tree tops the rising moon hangs above the roofs of identical cape cod houses.

"Is this were you live?" Jack asks.

Kate looks at Jack. His face is a faint shadow on the other side of the car. "Yeah, I live in the upstairs apartment."

"When I was a kid the down stairs was one of those mom and pop stores. You could make a bet with the grocer and every day after school I'd come here and buy a MilkyWay bar."

Kathleen steps out of the car and breathes in the cold air deeply into her lungs. The air is fresh and sweet and the sickness in her stomach goes away.

Jack comes around the side of the car just as she knew he would. He takes her in his arms and kisses her.

"Do you want to come up?" Kathleen asks.

"I don't want to wake up your son."

"You won't Richie is staying at my girl's house. I'm going to pick him up tomorrow before church."

They walk beneath the old oak tree whose roots have raised and cracked the sidewalk. In the spring tiny blue flowers grow through the cracks. The flowers remind Jack of the columbines that bloom briefly in the meadows beneath the high mountains. The wooden steps to her apartment creak beneath their feet.

She sways slightly trying to fit the house key into the lock. The key finds the lock and the door swings open.  Jack follows her into the kitchen. There are pots of plants lining the kitchen counter, on top of the refrigerator, and on the table pushed against the wall opposite the sink.

Crossing the room Kathleen takes off her coat and lays it over the back of the kitchen chair. When she leans across the table to turn on the radio her mini skirt tugs tightly around her buttocks

The music plays softly.

Jack stands and as Kathleen straights up he slips his arm around her waist. She turns toward him starring into his blue eyes like a cat into a fire. His body gently presses her against the table and when he lifts her onto the table her legs wrap around his waist.

Kathleen sighs.

Jack kisses her lips. Her lips are as cold as rain. Jack reaches. There is a faint click and the room slips into darkness. Eddie Money is on the radio with Ronnie Spectre singing the back up vocals. Eddie belts out, "Take me home tonight, I won't let you go till you see the light."

When he withdraws from the kiss, her eyes are shinning  like diamonds in the night.

Jack unfastens the buttons of her dress down to her waist and parts the garment cupping her ******* in his hands. Her arms circle his neck and pull him to her. Her lips move against his ear.

"Don't Jack, please. You mustn't. "Her voice is a roaring whisper in his ear. "*** always ruins everything. I just want a friend."

Jack drops his hands to her thighs and up past her garter belts and slide around to cup her ***. "I'll be your friend," Jack tells her.

Kathleen draws a deep breath and her arms gently tighten around his neck.

He pulls her to the edge of the table and on the radio Ronnie softly  sings," Oh darlin, my darlin , won't you be my be my little baby."
to be continued...
guy scutellaro Sep 2018
(continues from where Jack  and Kate have exited O'Malley's wedding reception and are standing outside the bar)


"Hello Mr. Martin," Jack says to an old man slowly shuffling up Main Street.

"Who is he?" Kathleen asks.

"I know him from the barber shop. The barber pays him a few dollars to clean and sweep the hair off of the floor. He has a room above the bar."

When Joesph Martin approaches them, Jack asks, "Hello, how are you?"

"I'm an old man, Jack. How could I be?" But then he smiles, "Ahh, I can't complain and how are you?"

"Still alive and well."

"Who is this pretty young lady?" Mr. Martin asks.

"This is Kate." Jack tells him.

Joesph Martin reaches with his hand and takes her by the arm. Gently he squeezes. "Hello Kate, such a pretty name for such a pretty woman. It's nice to meet you."

The thick eye glasses that he wears magnify his sad eyes. Kathleen is cold and dizzy and half heartedly, she smiles.

"Good by Jack and Kate. Have as much fun now because you're going to be dead for a long, long time."

""How long?" Delleto inquires.

The old man just smirks and the continues walking up the street until he comes to the door that leads to the stairwell and his room above the Wagon Wheel bar. Anthony turns to face the door. The small window is broken and the shards of glass catch the twilight.

Joseph Martin turns back looking at the young man and woman who are about to get into a car. He is not certain what he wants to say to them. Perhaps he wants to tell them that it ***** being an old man and that the upstairs hallway always smiles of ****.

He wants to say to them that although Anna died ten years ago he still loves her and misses her every day. Joesph recalls that Plato in Tamaeus believed that the soul is a stranger to the Earth and has fallen on account of sin into matter.

Jack waves to Joesph.

A faint smile appears on Joesph Martin's wrinkled face as he heeds the resignation he hears in his own thoughts. Joesph waves back. The mustang drives off.

Earth, O  Island Earth.


Joesph pushes open the door and goes  into the hallway. The fragments of glass scattered across foyer crunch and clink under his worn shoes. The cold wind blowing through the broken window touches his warm neck. He shivers and starts up the stairs.

Little illumination is provided by the 25 watt light bulb at the top of the stairs. There is only enough light to dimly see the wall and his own breathing. There is just enough light, like when he awakens from a bad dream, to remember who he is and to separate the horror of what was dreamt from the horror of what is real.

The old man continues climbing the stairs following the familiar shadow of the wall cast onto the stairs. If he crosses the vaque line he will become invisable like a four pound trout hiding in the deepest hole of a creek. By the  time he reaches the second floor he is out of breath.  Joesph  pauses and with his handerchief he has taken from his back pocket he wipes the moisture from the lenses of his eyeglasses.

A couple of the doors are standing open and the old man cautiously looks into each room as he hurries past them. Down at the end of the hall the fire exit sign glows above the door. One forty-watt light bulb hangs from a frayed wire from the ceiling halfway down the corridor. The wiring is old and the bulb in the white porcelain socket above the door and hallway stairs flicker like the blink of an eye or the fearful beating of an old man's heart.

When he opens the door to his room, it sags on ruined hinges.

Several seconds pass as he nervously searches with his hand for the light switch, finds it, and turns on the light. Vigilantly, he looks around the cramped, sparse room, over at the bed against the wall, and then across the room to the dresser beside the sink.

The opening of one door and the closing of another outside in the hallway ushers Joesph Martin into his room before his inspection is complete. Quickly, he pushes his door closed. Without taking off his coat, he sits down on the bed and reaches to turn on the radio.

It is gone.

Hard soled boots echo hollowly off the hallway doors. The overlapping echoes make it impossible for Joesph  to determine whether the footsteps are approaching or leaving. He lays back on his bed. Resigning himself to another sleepless night, he  rolls over onto his side and the wall.

He thinks of Anna and the garden behind their house. He feels the warmth of the sun emanating from the white bricks of the house as he walks the path to the garden. He remembers how sweet the air smelled and Anna standing there, waiting there with a plate freshly made oat meal cookies. She made the cookies every Sunday before going to church and she was beautiful and Joseph  aches tonight with the love he feels for Anna.

Earth, O island Earth.
continues with Kate  and Jack leaving the bar and Jack taking Kate home.
guy scutellaro Aug 2018
(continued from O' Malley's wedding reception part 3)

"I can't drive, Jack.  One drink too many." She says slurring her words. " Can you drive me home?" Kate asks.

Kathleen and Jack walk over to the groom and bride who are standing near the big glass refrigerator door with Paul Keater. Gradually over the years Jack has perfected his indifference to Keater.

As Delleto watches Keater talking to O'Malley the anger grows into the loathing Jack always feels for Paul Keater.  Keater's pregnant belly hangs over the belt holding up his too large pants.
Obviously, Delleto thinks to himself, Keater has been wearing that same shirt all week, and that Giant baseball cap, well, ****, he never takes it off.

When Keater glances down, he realizes he is standing next to Jack Delleto. Usually, Paul Keater would have at least considered punching Delleto in his self-righteous face. Paul rocks back and forth on his worn shoes for a moment and slides the Giant baseball cap across his forehead several times. Paul limps over to the bar.

Bob bends down kisses Kathleen on the cheek and turns to shake hands with Dell.

"Good luck," Says Jack Delleto.

Bob briefly smiles.

Kathleen embraces the bride. "You look fantastic."


                                             *

Outside the bar the sun is setting behind the boarded shut Delleto Market.

"That was my dad's store," Jack tells Kate stepping into the bluish circle of light cast by the street lamp. His face is in shadow as he stares at the store. "My dad would come home drunk. He'd beat me, beat my mother. No reason. He's dead and been dead for seven years and I don't know why, but he still scares the **** out of me."

A cold rain ****** through the darkening sky.

Jack whispers to himself as he reads the graffiti painted on the boarded shut building. "TELL YOUR DREAMS TO ME. TELL ME YOU LOVE ME, IF YOU LOVE ME, TELL ALL YOUR DREAMS TO ME."

(to be continued)
guy scutellaro Aug 2018
(continued from O' Malley's wedding reception part 3)

"I can't drive, Jack.  One drink too many." She says slurring her words. " Can you drive me home?" Kate asks.

Kathleen and Jack walk over to the groom and bride who are standing near the big glass refrigerator door with Paul Keater. Gradually over the years Jack has perfected his indifference to Keater. Keater's pregnant belly hangs over the belt holding up his too large pants.

As Delleto watches Keater talking to O'Malley the anger grows into the loathing Jack always feels for Paul Keater. Obviously, Delleto thinks to himself, Keater has been wearing that same shirt all week, and that Giant baseball cap, well, ****, he never takes it off.

When Keater glances down, he realizes he is standing next to Jack Delleto. Usually, Paul Keater would have at least considered punching Delleto in his self-righteous face. Paul rocks back and forth on his worn shoes for a moment and slides the Giant baseball cap across his forehead several times. Paul limps over to the bar.

Bob bends down kisses Kathleen on the cheek and turns to shake hands with Dell.

"Good luck," Says Jack Delleto.

Bob briefly smiles.

Kathleen embraces the bride. "You look fantastic."


                                             *

Outside the bar the sun is setting behind the boarded shut Delleto Market.

"That was my dad's store," Jack tells Kate stepping into the bluish circle of light cast by the street lamp. His face is in shadow as he stares at the store. "My dad would come home drunk. He'd beat me, beat my mother. No reason. He's dead and been dead for seven years and I don't know why, but he still scares the **** out of me."

A cold rain ****** through the darkening sky.

Jack whispers to himself as he reads the graffiti painted on the boarded shut building. "TELL YOUR DREAMS TO ME. TELL ME YOU LOVE ME, IF YOU LOVE ME, TELL ALL YOUR DREAMS TO ME."

(to be continued)
guy scutellaro Aug 2018
(Bob O'Malley's wedding  reception part two)


She has make up on and her face looks pretty. Kathleen blows out the match and looks up.

"Hello Kate," Jack says and sits down.

"My name isn't Kate. It's Kathleen." The bourbon makes Kathleen feel confident. "Hello, Dell," She says mockingly. "You know Sue worships your ***. She just loves to call you, Dell. She thinks Dell is such a **** name." Kathleen takes a last drag on her cigarette and rubs it out in the ash tray. What should I call you?"

"How about, Darling?"

She looks up from the whiskey glass she is fondling in her slim hands. "Hello, Jack, Darling." Her soft, deep voice whispers accenting his name and the word, Darlin.

Kathleen crosses her legs and the black dress rides up to the middle of her thigh.

Jack glances at the milky white flesh between the blue ***** hose and the hem of her dress. She is drunk, but Dell does not care. He leans forward. "Do you wanna dance?"

"But no one else is dancing."

"Well, we could go to the beach and walk along the sand."

"It's 20 degrees out there." She takes the the glass and swallows the last of the whiskey. "We'll freeze."

"I'll keep you warm."

In the other room the kitchen door swings open as Paul Keater and Bob O'Malley come rushing out, talking, laughing and rubbing their noses.

"Come let's dance." says Kathleen.

Jack stands up and takes her hand. She rises and as he draws her close her ******* flatten out against his chest. Jack feels her heart thumping.

Across the smoke filled crowded room, the bride is cutting the wedding cake. "That's a beautiful wedding gown." Kathleen tells Jack as he moves her around the ***** floor in and out of the circles of light cast by the overhead lamps. " Theresa looks beautiful."

"So do you." Jack holds her tighter.

"Do you really think so?" Kathleen is flattered. She is perpetually surprised if some one thinks she is pretty.

"I do," He says with sincerity.

She rests her head on Delleto's shoulder. The man with the bruised face disturbs Kathleen.

Most men like to talk about themselves. They have a need to tell what they own or what they can do well. They need to impress and when Kathleen is with one of her men he genuinely awes her.

Lifting her head off of his shoulder, "Does your face hurt?"

"Only when I laugh or cry," he says as he moves Kathleen in and out of the circles of light.

"Jack Delleto has anyone ever told you, your a strange man?"

"Just my mother."

"Did you win?"

"What does it matter? Sometimes tryin is more important. Not giving up. "

"you lost."

"Yeah."

" Kate, what's important to you?"

Kathleen raises her head off of his shoulder to look up at him. "I don't want to depend on welfare and other people and I want to send my son to college. But most of all I want a home." She rests her cheek against his. I lived in foster homes all my life and I always knew one day I'd have to leave.

"Do you know the difference between a house and a home."

Jack thinks for a moment, "No, I' don't."

And her voice is a roaring whisper in his ear.

"LOVE."

The song comes to an end. Kathleen takes a cigarette from the pack on the table and puts it to her lips.

Jack strikes a match and the light flickers in her eyes. "Maybe, sometimes you'll tell me about your home."

"Do you want me too?" She leans forward and puts the cigarette to the flame.

"Yeah." Jack shakes out the match.

(to be continued)
guy scutellaro Jul 2018
Bob O Malley's Wedding Reception - part one.


The front door of the Wagon Wheel bar explodes open to Ziggy Pop's "You Got a **** for Life." Jack steps over the curb and vanishes into the dark doorway.

"HEY JACK, JACK DELLETO, the lanky bartender shouts over the din.

Delleto makes his way through the crowd over to the bar, extends his hand. They shake hands. "How the **** have you been, Snake?" Jack asks.

"Just great," Snake says. "Hey, you're lookin pretty fucken good for a dead man. I heard you fell off of a mountain."

"Who did you hear that from?" Jack wonders.

The bartender points across the room to where a man dressed in a pin stripped suit is swinging from one of the wagon wheel lights hanging from the ceiling.

"George! ****, I heard he was in jail."

Snake hands Jack a shot of tequila. The men touch glasses and throw down the shots.

"How's the other George?" Jack asks.

"AA." Snake tells him.

"How about Tommy? You see him anymore?"

"Rehab."

"What about Robby?

Snake refills the glasses and they drink them. "He's livin in a nudist colony in California and he's got two wives and six children"

Jack looks across the room and sees a drunken Bob O'Malley trying to adjust the rose in the lapel of his black tuxedo. Satisfied it won't fall out O'Malley looks up at the man swinging from the lamp. "Quick, George, name man's greatest inventions!"

George shoots back, "Alcohol, tobacco, and the wheel."

Bob smiles and then suddenly jumps up on top of the bar, and although he is over six feet tall and weighs two hundred pounds, he demonstrates the grace and dexterity of a ballerina as he pirouettes  around and jumps over the shot glasses and beer bottles that clutter the bar.

Wedding guests lean back in their chairs as strangers, fearful of his gyrations, ****** their drinks from the bar. Bob fakes a slip as he dances along but he is always in control and never falters. Forty three year old Bob O'Malley is Jim Brown who dodges danger to score the winning touch down.

When he reaches the end of the bar, he jumps to the floor, pulls to aluminum lids from the ice box, and with one in each hand smacks them together like cymbals.

Some people clap but the bemused just stare.

In the back of the room at the wedding table the father of the bride leans over and whispers into his crying wife's ear, "If I had a terminal illness, I'd shoot Bob."

The bride raises a glass of champagne into the smoke filled air and Bob takes a bow but then heads for the kitchen at the other end of the room.

"Hey Bob," Jack Delleto shouts to the groom over the music.

O'Malley stops under a wagon wheel lamp and turns as Delleto steps into the dim circle of light. "Congratulations, you're a lucky guy, Bob. I mean that." Delleto offer his hand and they shake hands.

"Thanks, Mister Cool. You must be a rock star."

Jack takes off the sunglasses.

"TWO black eyes," Bob says astonished. "You know your nose is bleeding. What happened?" Bob wants to know.

Jack takes a handkerchief  from his back pocket, puts it over his nose, and squeezes tightly. "It's broken."

"What happened?" Bob asks again.

"Bill Wain."

"He turned pro didn't he?"

"He's 5 and 0. Felix thinks he a natural but he's nothing special. He out weighs me by 20 pounds. ****, he couldn't even knock me down."

O'Malley shakes his head and then just smiles.

"She's beautiful," Jack tells Bob.

"Thanks Dell." O'Malley puts his hand on his friends shoulder and squeezes affectionately. He looks across the room at Theresa. "Yes, she is." Theresa's mother has stopped crying. The father just stares into the void.

"I 'm feeling real happy today." Bob O'Malley tells Delleto and then he looks away from his bride, passed the archway that divides the poolroom from the bar, and into the dark poolroom. With the light bulbs from the lamp above his head gleaming in his eyes, Bob seems to see something fleeting in a far distance. Slowly, a peculiar half smile forms showing his white uneven teeth.

Curious, Delleto turns his head to look into the darkness of the poolroom, too.

Bob looks down at Jack. "What are you starin at? " O Malley wonders.

"Do you hear them, Bob? Jack asks.

"Hear what?

"The shadows."

Puzzled , O'Malley asks, "What are you hearing, Jack?"

"Nothin," Delleto  succinctly tells his friend. "Nothin."

"A concussion," and Bob shakes his head. "You've probably got a concussion."

Now, Jack doesn't understand, but it does not matter because for a brief moment the two men have shared the same corner of darkness.

Bob says something to Paul Keater and Keater smiles broadly. He slides the rim of his Giant baseball cap to the side of his forehead and the two men disappear through the swinging kitchen door.
Jul 2018 · 941
with her eyes
guy scutellaro Jul 2018
she wanders into my soul
so effortless
sweet and easy
like sunshine
on a sunday afternoon

she feels the raindrops falling
can see the silence calling
and steals the love
from my heart

divides my soul into equal parts
and kicks the pieces
into a hole
that she has dug
just for me

with her eyes.
Jul 2018 · 479
s***
guy scutellaro Jul 2018
s*l
sou

so*l
soul
soul
soul
soul
soul.
just having
a little fun.
a literature professor
once told me
never use soul
in a poem.
guy scutellaro Jul 2018
(precedes, Bob O'Malleys Wedding reception part one)

The 19 year old light heavy weight leans his muscular body forward to rest his hands on the top rope. He bows his head waiting to regain his breath as his lungs fight to force air deep into his chest. Bill Wain has just boxed four rounds with Red.

Harry, the trainer, gently pulls the untied gloves from Red's hands.
"Good fight, "he says, patting Red on the back as the fighter climbs through the ropes and heads across the gym to the showers. Harry hands the sweat soak gloves to Felix who puts one glove under his arm while he loosens the laces on the other 16 ounce glove. He makes the sleeve wider. "Do you want the head gear?" the old black man asks.

Jack Delleto shakes his head and pushes his taped hand deep into the glove.

The former welterweight champion of Nevada smiles. He glances at Harry and then at Jack. "Head gears unnatural and you can't use them in a pro- fight. It only gives the fighter a false sense of security, anyway."

"Like a condem," Harry says.

"What's a condem ? Are you talking about a fucken rubber?" Felix asks, a bit perturb. "What's a rubber got to do with anything?" Felix demands, not understanding Harry's joke.

"Well, " Harry drawls. "It's suppose to protect your head. It's not natural and just gives you a false sense of security.

"Are you fucken kidding me? Is that suppose to be a joke? Harry, I just don't understand your sense of humor."

Harry smiles and Jack is laughing.

Felix tries not to and then shakes his head laughing, too. "Man, that was the worst joke. How does that feel?" Felix asks Jack when he has finish tying the glove.

Holding up the glove, Jack rotates his wrist. "Feels fine."


The old man takes the other glove from under his arm, pulls the laces out, and holds it open. Without turning his head to look at him, Felix tells Harry, "Make sure Bill doesn't cool down, tell him to shadow box." Harry walks over to Bill and Bill starts shadow boxing. Jack pushes his hand into the glove. "Make a fist." Jack does. Felix pulls the laces tight and ties them into a bow.

Felix looks intently into Jack's eyes. "How does that feel?" He does not see any fear.

"About right."

"you look tired."

"I am a little."

"Are you sick or is it a woman." Felix asks somberly.

"I'm not sick."

A big smile spreads across the face of the former welterweight champion of Nevada. The face of the sixty-eight year old blackman is lined and cracked like the old boxing gloves that jack is wearing, but his tall body is youthful and athletic in appearance. Above Felix's eyebrows Jack sees the affects of twenty years as a professional fighter. He sees the thick scar tissue and the thin white lines where the old man's skin has been stitched and restitched many times. As he gives instructions to Jack, Felix's brown eyes seem to be staring at something distant and Jack wonders if Felix has chased around the ring one time too often his dream.

"I like your style, Jack. Get off first and don't stop punching until he goes down. You've got it kid, and not every fighter does."

Jack and Felix start walking over to the ring.

Jack wonders, "What is it I've got?" He asks.

Felix puts his foot on the fourth strand of the rings rope and with his hand pulls up the top strand. "You've got HEART."

Jack steps into his corner.

In the opposite corner Bill Wain waits while a concerned Harry talks quietly with Felix at the center of the ring apron.

"Will he be alright?" Harry asks.

"Bill's tired." Felix says, then he tries to explain. "It's not the money. I almost 70 and I want to go out a winner." He pauses, and then offers, "he can hit hard with either hand."

"yeah, but at best he's a small middleweight and he only moves in one direction, straight ahead."

"Harry, I love the guy." Felix puts his hand on Harry's shoulder. "He's like Tyson at the end of his career. He'd fight you to the death, but he wasn't fighting to win anymore, either."

Harry puts his hands in his pockets and stares at the floor. "Do you want me to tell'em to go easy." Harry looks up at Felix, waits for an answer.

"I'm tired of sweeping the dirt from behind the boxes of wax beans and tuna fish. I'm sick of waitin in the rain to collect shopping carts. A half way decent white heavyweight can make a lot of money. It's not good for a fighter to practice holding back. Bill's a winner. Jack"ll be alright."

Felix reaches into the pocket of his faded brown and grey checkered pants. He hands the pocket watch to Harry so he can time the rounds.

Felix nods to Bill Wain and the he looks over to Jack standing in the opposite corner. He winks at Jack Delleto and whispers, "The Jack of Hearts."

Bill comes out purposefully out of his corner, circling left.

Jack rushes straight ahead.
Jul 2018 · 1.1k
the lawnmower is angry
guy scutellaro Jul 2018
i pull the cord
a sputter and a spit

he
she
it
tells me,
let the grass grow under
your feet
pick no
weeds
let the leaves lie where
they fall
put a lounge chair
on the front lawn
sunbathe *****
(***** the neighbors)
throw the empty
beer cans
into the street
and when the cops come.
laugh.

pick a mountain
any mountain

climb up through
the ice and snow
and when
you get to the top
of the mountain

keep climbing
I wonder if I should have used commas?
Jul 2018 · 762
the blueness of darkness
guy scutellaro Jul 2018
on a muggy afternoon
from my basement  apartment
I hear harold and emma.
the agruments
the beatings
the bruises.

drunk Harold.

children wailing
morning
afternoon
evening.

drunk old harlod.

emma,  the end of the night calls to you.
the blueness of darkness prevails.
and no exit.
if I had a gun, i'd shoot harold
guy scutellaro Jun 2018
she sees it in the laughter of children
feels the vibrations of a song
hears it in the silence of the darkest night.
always a blue sky
a sunny day
the sails of her ship
billowing in a west wind

she is a shotgun and a prayer
would like 3 cats
a dog
the cabin in the woods with cable tv

she dreams of the open field where
the white horse always waits
ready to make the run
to a meadow high in the distance


daughter
guy scutellaro Jun 2018
Above Maloney's bar where the loud rock music shakes the rats in the wall till 3 a.m. the vibrations travel through the concrete floor, up the bed posts, and into the mattress. it was like being front row center at woodstock. paul keater had seen jimi hendrix play purple haze to close woodstock.

slowly his eyes open. who the **** is he fooling. even without the loud rock music he would not be able to sleep, anyway. the wagon wheel bar sign outside his window blinks soft red neon into his room.

keater sits up, sighs, resigns himself to another sleepless night, and swings his legs off of the bed. he searches his mind for some distraction to pass away the night hours. he thinks about his x- wife. he remembers going to the phycologist to try and save his marriage.

"dump the *****," martlin said." paul keater laughs softly to himself. "I paid him eighty bucks and all he had to say was dump the *****." laughing to himself he reaches and switches on the lamp.

paul thinks about *******, surveys the foot high pile of magazines in the corner but instead spots his stack of baseball cards he had collected since when he was a boy. he walks over to the dresser. first, he puts on his giant baseball cap and then snatching the baseball cards, he plops down in the chair by the dresser.

the card on top is willie mays. he takes it in his hand. the card is not worn like some of the others. it looks brand new. although the cards are more than thirty years old he holds the deck up to his nose imagining he can smell the bubble gum that came with every pack of cards.

and he can. and he can hear the roar of the crowd. his team the giants is down three to two. the bases are loaded when willie mays comes to bat. the pitcher goes into the wind up. mays swings. it's a grand slam!

it was paul's tenth birthday.  his dad had taken him to his first baseball game and his father bought him the willie mays card from a dealer. eagerly, he searches through the deck for the willie mays card. he finds it.

oblivious to the loud rock music filtering through his room, paul holds the card to his nose.

fondly, he remembers.

dad.
excerpt from a novel. doesn't quite work as a short story.
guy scutellaro Jun 2018
I did. love you!

I did love you.
I had to much free time today. trying to come up with a poem. the result is this unfortunate scribbling.
guy scutellaro May 2018
I'm searching for intelligent life
not in outer space but here on earth.
I turn over a rock
and find congress, the president,
a couple used car salesman
and a worm.

the choice is obvious.
state,  federal government. how many laws do we need? an assembly woman wanted a law requiring seat belts for dogs. how about seat belts for school children for the school bus? apparently politicians have a lot of free time on their hands.
May 2018 · 770
eyes of wilted flowers
guy scutellaro May 2018
she walks prospect avenue in the rain.
dead eyes, sore feet
the flowers have wilted into
the shadows of acceptance.

she finds the corner
and the last light lit,
wants a match for her cigarette.

a ****** that has found her god.
a needle and a bed of thorns.


the beep from a car's horn,
so a customer waits,
swings open a rusty gate.

and when that door

slams

shut

the prisoner of light asks,

"where have all the flowers gone?
Apr 2018 · 633
high wire walker
guy scutellaro Apr 2018
give me a ledge on a mountain
18 inches wide
quite a lot of room to pray.

when the sun rises
the flowers of the field weep:
let me love your eyes,
your lips, your compassion.
let me lie next to you.

let me walk the high wire
of  loving you.
"life is being on the wire all else is waiting."  high wire walker, Wallenda.
Mar 2018 · 1.0k
i'm lonely hold me tighter
guy scutellaro Mar 2018
I wrap my arms around a tree
hold me tighter
I say
hold me till the flowers bloom
and the leaves appear on the trees.

hold me
when the wind rustles the leaves
and the turtles sun themselves
on branches in the stream.

hold me closely during a distant rain.
when every thing is renewed.

through rain, flowers, and forest
from high up in heaven.

we are reborn.
guy scutellaro Feb 2018
when I walk towards the dog his eyes follow my every step.
eyes  blue like hard candy. lips curled above white fangs
smile at me with a smirk of someone who has awakened
from a bad dream.

I think I hear him sigh and as I kneel beside him. His cold eyes catch some light from the pulsateing drum bar sign.
"what do you see?" I ask. "what can you feel?"

Inside the bar I order a shot of bourbon and as I put the bourbon to my lips I see the dog standing on a barstool next to the fireplace. His lips are contorted tightly above its teeth and his eyes pulsate red light. After staring in disbelief the impossibility of situation dies. His eyes flash quickly several times. He knows me .

I order 2 shots of bourbon and walk over to were the mutt was sitting. He is not there and I'm beginning to wonder if I have imagined the dog when I feel something ice cold rubbing against my leg,  I look down. The mutt winks at me. I crouch down to put the glass of whiskey in front of him. Then I touch my glass to his.
"I've learned to moan without making a sound. " I tell my friend as his stiff tongue stubbornly licks up the bourbon.

He slowly turns his big ****** head towards me. "Out of the lowest the highest reaches his peak,"  his hoarse voice whispers. Causiously I ****** his head. He growls but it is not too menacing. it becomes more like a contented humming. The faster I caress the louder the droning becomes. His eyes dilate and I become mesmerized watching them grow from a warm yellow radiance to a terrifying hot white.

And with a vicious snap the dog sinks his teeth into my hand.

I **** my hand loose. Quickly I stand up and punt kick the little ******* into the fireplace. My wounds are deep but bloodless. A cold numbness  travels up my arm, into my chest, and down to my toes.

And just when I 've lost all feeling. I begin to burn. The fire is burning me from the inside out so no one knows how I feel.
Instead I stare at the dog in the fire place as steam rises from his head. His eyes flash at me three or four times.

I give him the finger.

When I walk into the poolroom, I put quarter on the table. It is a crowded room of tired faces unable to radiate any light of their own.

"The fire has consumed me. The true believer of snow and sad faces, I am a shell."

I am confused, frightened. I hear the words as if they are my thoughts. But then across the room hidden in a dark corner I discern the silhouette of the mutt. His eyes are shut but I can faintly see his subtle smile.

It's my game so pretending as if nothing has happened I select a pool stick. A tall man in a leather jacket comes over and tells me it is his game.

we argue.

And the dog's voice groans, "No matter what you dream it'll end in ashes or ice. Hit him with the pool cue." The next thing I know I'm slamming the pool stick into the man's face. Blood rushes from his wound. People rush from the shadows. hands grab me. Punch and kick me. I'm dragged to the door and tossed into the gutter.

Semiconscious, sometimes dreaming, I roll over and face the dog.
From the shadows someone comes behind me I try to roll over to see the voice but cannot.

"What does this world consist of?" The voice whispers into my ear. "Empty lots, a dead dog, and visions of the night."
Feb 2018 · 624
if rain were dreams
guy scutellaro Feb 2018
make a run to  st patrick's
put a dollar in the church box
light a votive candle

dreams stay with you
like a lovers voice calling
from across a crowded street

or an old friend that never leaves

in the darkest night
every bar stool makes a wish
every robin sings a prayer
every drop of rain sells a wish.

a pond or a puddle
add a thousand tears
fill a river into an ocean

in an outstretched hand I put a dollar.
he shoves it into his pocket.

he has his pocket full of rain.

what are yours?
guy scutellaro Feb 2018
I am not dead, I have only become inhuman:
That is to say,
Undressed myself of laughable prides and infirmities,
But not as a man
Undresses to creep into bed, but like an athelete
Stripping for the race.
the delicate ravel of nerves that made me a measure
of certain fictions
Called good and evil; that made me contact with pain
And expand with pleasure;
Fussily adjusted like a little electroscope:
That's gone, it is true;
(I never miss it; if the universe does,
How easily replaced!)
but all the rest is heightened , widen, set free.
I admired the beauty
While I was human, now I am part of the beauty.
I wander in the air,
being mostly gas and water, and flow in the ocean;
Touch you and Asia
At the same moment; have a hand in the sunrises
And the glow of this grass.
I left the light precipitate of ashes to earth
for a love token.
"Original sin" is another great poem by Jeffers.
Jan 2018 · 742
three quarters of a pound
guy scutellaro Jan 2018
when 2 birds standing on
2 different high tension wires kiss
love is short.

you wanted me to tattoo your name on my back.
"but who would see?" I asked.
"you just don't get it, " you screamed,
"you don't ever get it."
and you smashed a glass
on the worn rug.

it was a velvet rug
with a picture of elvis
painted across it
meant to be hung on the wall
and when the wind parted the curtains
the shards sparkled like stars...

...they say the human heart
weighs 3/4 quarters of a pound
and scientists have found
in a tomb in egypt
the heart of cleopatra
shriveled like leather.
bitterness
can preserve a heart for eternity...

...but it's closing time at the bar
and outside in the cold, cold snow,
outside in the snow
my darling
one last time
i'll **** your name.
reprint of the first poem I submitted.
guy scutellaro Jan 2018
I've changed my ways a little; I cannot now
run with you in the evening along the shore, Exceptin a kind of dream; and you, if you dreamt a moment, tou see me there.

so leave awhile the paw-marks along the front door
where I used to scratch and go out or in, and you'd soon open' and you'd soon open; leave on the kichen floor
the marks of my drinking -pan

I cannot lie by your fire as I used to do
on the warm stone, nor at the foot of your bed;
no all the night through I lie alone.
but your kind thought has laid me less than six feet
outside your window where the firelight so often plays, and whewre you sit to read--and I fear grieving for me--
every night your lamplight lies on my play.

you, man, and woman live so long, it's hard
to think of you ever dying
a little dog would get tired of living so long.
I hope that then you are lying

under the ground like me your lives will appear
as good and joyful as mine.
no, dear, thtat's to much hope: tou are not cared for
as I  have been.
and never have known the passionate undivided
fidelities that I knew.

your minds are perhaps to active, to many sided...
but to me were true.

you were never masters, but friends. I was your friend.
I loved you well' and was well loved. deep love endures
to the end and far past the end. if this is my end,
I am not lonely. I am not afraid. I am still yours.
Jan 2018 · 402
wings in the water
guy scutellaro Jan 2018
darkness wraps around me
inside a sonnet
singing, echoeing across the lake
i hear it ,too
inside a moan, sweet and sad
from
eons ago
primordial      
communication
we are one.
guy scutellaro Jan 2018
I saw a former love in the supermarket
a ghost comes to haunt me

you were all special
for a day, a month, a year
(I never met a women
who didn't want to be a model or a nun.)
now "love" a cold mournful sound
like an icy wind, scored street.
a vulture pecking at a dead body.

don't take offense
I loved all of you.

a broken nose,
a broken heart,
if there is one thing I ve learned
from boxing and love

I can take one **** of a beating

sometimes,
in the life of a lonely heart
the leaves run from the wind
and from love lost
there is no escape.
please do not take offense. I believe women are the better part of he human race,
Dec 2017 · 653
purgatory
guy scutellaro Dec 2017
high buildings
prisons without barbed wire.

down the street from the funeral home
across from the burnt down church
standing by my window
staring out at the night
shadows scatter
like crazy crows
through streets that need no names.

on the corner of life and dreamers
illuminated by a streetlight
a heart is being spray painted on the wall
of  an abandon building
in boys of dubious futures
a heart is beating.

but there is always hope.
isn't there?

when the heart is beating.
Nov 2017 · 440
earth o island earth
guy scutellaro Nov 2017
where the eagles fly in polluted sky
and the fish in polluted water
every stream , river, and lake
filled with chlordane and pesticides
can't eat the fish caught more than once a month.
the trees cry when it rains acid
eagles shells empty
the shame of human consumption
live now. worry tomorrow.
burn coal and the stocks go up.
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