Joe Ciccone - The ElectroLounge

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28 ii. By Way of Reply Arrived here from so many hours & miles, I remember hard two. One is your greasy brow, your sweaty face, playing a game you love but maybe not enough. You want to sing, shape the air to your music, color exposed the cankers in your heart, if not fill or efface them all. I watch from the sidelines, a backup reporter with little interest until you collide into me & we collapse in pains & mud. Years later, I dream we are talking on the phone, trying to explain our lost friendship, understand the moment when mud becomes dust, understand anything at all. A turn & I am in a vast coffeehouse in San Francisco, several floors, rooms doored by old patchwork curtains, a couch the color of badly dyed red hair, thin covers-less books of poetry heaped together between bricks. I’m glad we moved here, I think, finally, after living so many other places. San Francisco, I think gladly, at last. When I wake, we’re not in or bound for San Francisco. And you are still my friend, waking in your own home, with your loving wife like mine. And I am in the Gate, still, too, & it reminds me that the old truism about diminishing numbers of doors through the years is laziness worse than lies. Look left, look right, mind & look ahead. They’re swinging every which way, a shaggy spectral music at the ready. ****** The Cenacle | 84 | April 2013
29 iii. Empty Ballpark The black kitten, so tiny in her long blue top hat, sleeps on a scrap of cardboard I found, or sometimes on the edge of my hand. We cannot decide if she is my dream, either of us, but she remains close in my hours. I’m trying to understand what any of this is, as I always have, did. I saw clouds in the skies, when a child, as frames to mysteries embedded in the blue. The ways lamps reflected on windows, in my first heartbreak, & the next, seemed a secret warm pattern to things. Faces in crowds befuddled me, each one dry & no hint of the tinder within. Perhaps something when wrapped in a book, or a letter. I watched lamps deeper into reflections, listened. Watched lover after lover sleep in my bed, gentle as demised. The black kitten came, then the blue top hat. Or the other way. I travelled the last carriage out of town, walked & walked, found an empty ballpark. A scrap of cardboard. Or the edge of my hand. Sleeping without answer, or question. A trust in me. I step from the ground, finally, balancing her as my all. ****** ScriptorPress.com The Cenacle | 84 | April 2013
Page 3: From Soulard’s Notebooks
Page 10 and 11: Front and back cover art by Raymond
Page 12 and 13: 2 How is this steel turning to dust
Page 14 and 15: 4 How is this steel turning to dust
Page 16 and 17: 6 Where did the building go Seconds
Page 18 and 19: 8 “Dustification” of the remain
Page 20 and 21: 10 “My intellectual integrity pre
Page 23 and 24: 13 Joe Ciccone Folk Rhyme Never unh
Page 25 and 26: 15 Ralph Emerson P as in Peter [Ess
Page 27 and 28: 17 we know they’re phallic. P boa
Page 29: 19 precise,” as the writer above
Page 32 and 33: 22 their bulging dicks. At best, th
Page 34 and 35: 24 the old p-is-for-mouth didn’t
Page 37: 27 Many Musics Ninth Series “Open
Page 41 and 42: 31 Nathan D. Horowitz In the Secret
Page 43: 33 In the evening we stopped in an
Page 46 and 47: 36 Siaya wai: fish. Jai siaya: big
Page 48 and 49: 38 had here pulses in the air. The
Page 51 and 52: 41 Ric Amante Lunar Therapy So if y
Page 53 and 54: 43 Spirit Animal Remember that firs
Page 55 and 56: 45 Raymond Soulard, Jr. Notes from
Page 57: 47 I mean one could say, well, they
Page 60 and 61: 50 it in other ways and so that is
Page 63 and 64: 53 I was walking around, with a twi
Page 65: 55 And when we’re at work we all
Page 68 and 69: 58 him—he said no one had followe
Page 71 and 72: 61 In a City on a Bus I was in a ci
Page 73 and 74: 63 others, go into different rooms
Page 75 and 76: 65 and why was the word “clean”
Page 77 and 78: 67 I Think It Was What You Call a S
Page 79: 69 There is No Higher and There is
Page 82 and 83: 72 price of bananas design of stair
Page 84 and 85: 74 i don’t like dwelling on loss
Page 86 and 87: 76 the brandy slopped over and ran
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78 “The light is very bright and
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80 Up River This morning the sea wa
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82 I listen. The sizzle starts: lim
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84 But then, I get warm. A bird, re
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86 The Cenacle | 84 | April 2013
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88 INTERVIEWER Did you consider you
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90 INTERVIEWER That is a signature
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93 Joe Coleman Saboteur J. Junior
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95 Dog and Poet Always a dog. Newly
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97 Raymond Soulard, Jr. Labyrinthin
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99 deeply. There are other stories
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101 for the remain.” He stops aga
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103 “I resisted a little at first
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105 “More like. I don’t know. F
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107 with her he’d say yes to anyt
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109 Man, do I not want to greet the
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111 “No.” “So how do we do th
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113 fade & sleep.” “And start a
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115 They keep me elevated all the t
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117 iv. The film about her later em
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119 & never opened her eyes, she wa
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121 “No more dirty fantasies” s
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123 “Don’t lead with your heart
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125 liberated that day. With my thr
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127 I say nothing. “Or you can wa
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129 “Dreams are a place” He sta
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131 “You won’t.” “I can try
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133 I nod. He takes my hand. Not pr
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135 “You came here, to me. I’m
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137 ScriptorPress.com The Cenacle |
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139 Abraham Hafiz Rodriguez lives i
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Joe Ciccone - The ElectroLounge

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