Jay Passer

by Horror Sleaze Trash on January 28, 2014

Painting of Jay Passer by ~ Ben John Smith


the snooker boys wear jean jackets
lay down their sharpened cues for a trip to the liquor bar 2 doors down
for whiskey shots and eager idle banter
grizzled little chaps with coke habits
chop chop on the rear white porcelain of the toilet stall
how about a token pitcher of beer
a couple sandwiches from across the street
the air clammy with chalk
vibrant with the streak energy of 7 straight shots gone down
rack up the points pal
the snooker boys are hot tonight
meet on Wednesday nights
but the hardcore brotherhood shoot during the day
best for the drug trade
beer posters stapled on the tongue-in-groove cedar walls
Formica tabletops peeling and pocked with burn marks
the snooker boys don’t bother with ashtrays
shooting with the cigarillo notched between the lips
the table holds 5 slates
5 spots
15 reds
2 through 7 colored
and a pitch of green felt



call 911
Mojo’s down
it was after 3 a.m.
as usual
due to dehydration
vampire bats drink
very little water
subsisting on the pink stink
wine by the rosy
Mojo the last
beatnick in town
“Man, what I’m saying is,
are you feeling me?”
the fire cop
which one of us was
least fucked up
to ply for
Hula Shannon was not shy
babbling about how overworked
the old man was
the man who walked across India
black rimmed glasses
white golf hat
chinos and a hustling gait
pronounced very much
at the scene
right by all the empty kegs
barrels for recycling.



they will teach my work someday
they will shout my glee from star struck firestorm whorls
all the coeds and gimmicky quarterbacks
they will absorb the depths of my soiled pages
the bard of Lake Union
I may do some time
but I will not be forgotten
as Benny says, from across the hall
“Who could forget a guy with a face like Woody Allen?”



she came out of nowhere
a redhead sitting at the bar toying with a gin and tonic
she made everybody salivate with lust
the regular women shaking their heads with disdain
they had not enough to offer
in comparison
she was a stripper
she got her check from the entertainment company down the block
she took Scotty home, he paid her to masturbate before his staring eyes
one night she got a ride from myself and Clark Christ to the Rendezvous
in the storm and rain of Lake City Way
I totaled the old Buick station wagon
into a new model Volkswagon Jetta
and fled the scene
with several fabrications obliged to tell
David Grady
who was from Oakland
who lent me the Buick
and furthermore
promised to beat to a bloody pulp
anybody taking the Lord’s name in vain



fast food
open windows
old skin
all lead to bloodletting
radio silence
sleep robbed of grace
the cutting board
the cutting floor
breakfast of Spam
and mute elasticity
missing the Degas
the Picasso
the Toulouse Lautrec
gay Paris
it’s not the same
round these parts
constant rain clouds
with gray consciousness
5 a.m. bus rides
family strife
dark box scores
the universe
in miasmas of



the dog
rode a Harley
owned lizards
was tattooed too many times at a time
and worried
about the state of his skin revealed with unconditional revolt
hell it cant really hurt
fished at it with tea tree oil
the man
a lummox bred in a bird cage
idolized Hendrix
Santana second best
was always out of shit
in the morning
when in least need
but most wanting
after hours



Irish Kev
Hit the windshield after the car hit the tree
Ever after sporting a V-shaped scar
Like a brand of malignant accomplishment upon his forehead.
He sat at the bar ever after
In his black motorcycle jacket
Blue jeans
Studded boots
Oily jet locks smeared to his forehead and
Long mutton chops
One day
Out of nowhere
A cappella
He sang a song
It was some Irish song
Everybody shut up
It was spontaneous
It really worked
The dude made an entire bar-crowd
To utter silence and awe.
Then, later,
He tried the same act and then he tried it
Yet again
But it never did work like that
First time
People just ignored him, went back to
That V on his forehead glaring, some
Scarlet letter.



I bone-picked the yellow bile out of a heat-scalded sky
I sucked the marrow from maddened beasts
Charging us all collectively
Vulnerable as naked islanders
Challenged by armored marauders from outer space
The birds the elephants the species set aside for extinction
The natural order of things
While some strange guy singing folk songs
Considered a pact with some mad thing posing as devilish and wise
That damnable thing stuck a broadsided sword down its throat and smiled
Only to vomit upon vitriol something a bit stronger
Than scare tactics
Love per se
Courtesy of the wounded womb
Of the lamb shorn breakneck and handily
Guess I consider myself lucky.



there was a black leather couch
at the back of the restaurant
after hours, members of the staff
fucked on it
I was always in the dark about such matters
but once I found out
I had to one-up them all
it was a Sunday, 2 o’clock in the afternoon
with a girl-woman 20 years my junior
tattooed and smiling
who worked at the coffee cart down the street
I closed and locked the doors of the restaurant
called her up
“get over here babe!”
I took her on the couch
in broad daylight
people streaming past the floor-to-ceiling windows
I considered it an accomplishment
nobody had yet even attempted
bad boy needs a spanking
better yet a hanging
in some Louvre of the lascivious



we didn’t talk literature or fine art
we made cracks about the local baseball team
we looked out the door at the hard rain showering on the asphalt
we didn’t retain footmen for our carriages
we had no sense for investment or speculation
we drove foot leather and the occasional beat down bicycle
we ate from soup kitchen urn and food bank aisles
we learned to busk with our small handcrafted guitars
we hit the cobblestones of the Market
we made it big enough to quit stealing flowers
we were offered an estimable contract on the spot
we were told to vacate the premises or be subjected to arrest
we didn’t bother to argue
we fled on feet gilded from Florentine coffers
we had enough small change for a cheap bottle of wine



woke up in the ER
admittance due to a fiendish brand
of lifestyle
decided then and there
never to default
from the truth
the walk back to the place
from Swedish Hospital
blinking and palsied
yet full of knowledge
I live for
the sun and flowers
Seattle derives the
life source
California be damned
give us the eternal
fine and ultimate

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