City of Thieves

 They gave me the "tour", still in handcuffs, first up the infamous elevator (in that regard, there's a tale about a guy who instead beat up two St. Paul PD, but with his feet) and then, unscathed but still blinded, through the gauntlet between pens and holding cells on a warm Saturday night, cries of the detainees bemoaning the full moon.

In one cell a stunning young woman stood alone, defiant behind shatterproof glass, rake thin, proud of her screams as beautiful as any captured animal, intensity justified with a smile declaratory and mocking the injuries to my eyes as they met hers like some demand I be handed over to her, that liquid line from cheek to jaw taught, flexing and clenching.

And then at once, the trance broken - I found myself released into the rabble, with no visible organization to it, as if though that must disturb the incarcerated there.

So inured of the nature of anger and its frustration, I offered my own ministrations for calm, to be rejected and restated again without offense or sight, a blind monk among priests and kings in the City of Thieves


... tanuki *
for a few cups of sake
recites the sutras
recidivists crowd the shrine
offering prayers all night long

waiting for the light to turn green

by horace p sternwall

the great void spins and spins and spins and spins who shall say where the void ends and where it begins? i had more than enough to drink and before i had time to think i accosted a stranger in the street but he pushed me aside without missing a beat the question of the void is easy to avoid if you really put your mind to it you can get through it that is what i wanted to say but the stranger went on his way with my words unappreciated because they had never been stated how many strangers have you pushed aside as you wander through this world so wide they might have given you food for thought then again, maybe not i am waiting for the light to turn green it’s the loneliest light i have ever seen the walls of the steeet close in maybe i will go for a swim

the endless rain - 24. ace

by nick nelson

part twenty-four of twenty-eight

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it was getting late, and mr eggwhistle had a long drive back to the city, but he wanted to talk to ace, the last of the four individuals the director had named as possible confidants of johnny’s. despite being inmates of the asylum, zeke, ike, and luke had all seemed outwardly “normal” or at least harmless. mr eggwhistle found ace, when he finally tracked him down, a bit disconcerting. he was seated by himself on a chair in one of the corridors of inmates’ rooms. the corridor was filled wth shadows. ace was thin, hunched, looked to be about sixty years old, and was dressed as a “gangster”, i e . a gangster as seen in old black and white movies. he was wearing a black pinstriped suit with a black shirt and a wide white tie. his hair was shoe polish black. and combed straight back. ace did not look up as mr eggwhistle introduced himself , but nodded to indicate he had heard. him “i understand you knew johnny dark,” mr eggwhistle said. “knew him? i taught him everything he knew.” at that moment the lights in the corridor went on. in the light, ace looked closer to eighty than sixty. “you would not happen to havre a gospel of johnny, would you?” ace reached into the breast pocket of his suit jacket and handed mr eggwhistle a pamphlet. “thank you very much.,” mr eggwhistle smiled, although ace had still not looked directly at him. “may i ask you just one question?” “you can ask.”, “did johnny ever talk about a guy named packy?” “i don’t talk about packy,” ace replied. “packy is dead to me.” “fair enough.” mr eggwhistle backed away from ace. and took his leave. 25. the master

billy brown

by wiggly jones, "the little hippie boy"

billy brown was a guy with a twinkle in his eye he had no subterfuge or guile and the sight of a pretty girl made him smile the inspector made his report sweet and short the seventh son of a seventh son and a bit of a simpleton means no one no harm and has a tattoo on his arm proclaiming his love for his mother he seems to have no other particular point of view and if he were you and you were he life would be something of a mystery that may be true, the angel replied gazing through the window outside as oceans rolled and armies clashed planets dissolved and lightning flashed but if he were you what would you do? if you were him would not your prospects be dim? they had had this conversation before but nobody kept score the demon did not fly into a rage but silently turned the page

the endless rain - 23. the wanderer

by nick nelson

part twenty-three of twenty-eight

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a farmer’s dog discovered a fox and chased it out of the farmyard and on to the high road. the fox climbed a tree on the other side of the road. the dog clawed at the trunk of the tree and barked at the fox. a wanderer came down the road, and encountered the dog and the farmer looking up at the fox in the tree. the wanderer said, if that dog were a cat, it could climb the tree. the wanderer passed on. the farmer and the fox watched him disappear down the road, in the direction of the mountain. the wanderer came to a house by the side of the road, that was on fire. a widow and her three children and a dog were standing outside the house, watching it burn. if the house had been made of water, the wanderer said, it would not have burned. the wanderer continued down the road. the widow and the children watched him go, but the smoke from the fire obscured his path. the wanderer came to another farmer, and yet another dog. they were gazing sadly at a barren field, whose wheat had been devoured by locusts. if the locusts had been rose petals, said the wanderer, they would not have devoured the wheat. the farmer nodded, the dog barked once, not very loudly, and the wanderer continued on his way. next the wanderer encountered a wise man seated on a rock, with a book in his hands. the wise man was weeping. nobody wishes to read my book, he said to the wanderer, though it filled with wisdom. if the book were a beautiful maiden, the wanderer replied, many would wish to look upon it. the wanderer moved on, the mountain was now casting its shadow on the road. finally the wanderer came to the mountain, where the road ended. a single locust was seated by the side of the road . if that mountain were a river, the wanderer said, and i were a bird, i would fly across it. 24. ace

a sermon

by jack dale coody

we had wisdom long ago we knew things you punks don’t know as you wake to this new dawn you will be sorry when we are gone as you hear the cries and groans of the damned on your cell phones and the universe collapses in a welter of broken synapses o punks take heed in your hour of need shake off your electronic fetters and listen to your elders and betters tune out civilization’s blather learn to hunt, learn to gather do it like the monkeys do do it like the world was new

the endless rain - 22. luke

by nick nelson

part twenty-two of twenty-eight

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mr eggwhistle found luke in the bakery. he had a big white beard and his face and arms were ccvered with flour. luke agreed to meet mr eggwhistle after dinner on the verandah. they sat in rocking chairs. the sun was gong down over the trees, on the other side of the wide green lawn. “johnny? sure, everybody remembers johnny,” luke replied to mr eggwhistle’s first questipn. “yes, but different people seem to remember him differently.” “i don’t know about that. was there anything in particular you wanted to know?” luke kept is gaze on the trees, and the crows flying over them. “the last two people i talked to about johnny,” mr eggwhistle said, “gave mr copies of gospels about him. would you happen to have one, too?” ”why,, of course. i thought you would never ask.” without looking at mr eggwhistle, luke shifted his weight and took a pamphlet out of his back pocket and handed it to him. it was about the same size as the pmphlets he had received from zeke and ike, and was titled the gospel of johnny dark, according to luke. does everybody in this place have a gospel of johnny dark? mr eggwhistle asked luke. luke seemed mildly annoyed at the question. “of course not. only johnny’s truest disciples. who else but a true disciple would write down anybody’s gospel?” “of course. that was a silly question. i don’t know what i was thinking.” luke pointed to the trees. “did you see that crow that just flew away?” “uh - no, i did not happen to be looking that way.” “you can’t look every which way all the time,” luke said . “that is very true,” mr eggwhistle agreed. “do you think the crow will return?” luke asked. “hard to say.” “yes, it is. hard to say. now you are beginning to understand.” mr eggwhistle noticed that luke still had traces of flour on his arms and on his shirt. 23. the wanderer