Former Local Man Has Moved On

NEW YORK

Spiritual will most likely never move back to the Clifton neighborhood of Cincinnati, he claimed Sunday.

“I’ve moved on,” Spiritual said over the phone. “I’ve got a wife and a new daughter, quit calling me,” he said.

Spiritual, 32, moved out of Clifton in the spring of 2003, ( Read more... )

            Pete Limpelli traced his crooked index finger down the smooth newsprint of the Yellow Pages. His finger made a comforting dull squeaking sound, as it quietly hissed down the column. Sporting goods. Fishing supplies maybe? He flipped to the “F” section, in search of “Fishing Supplies” A couple of entries. One in Mason, and one in Hyde ( Read more... )

Cephalopoda carminicus

Carmine Calamari, you’re a cooked octopus - breaded and fatty, thrown on Detroit ice. Fer luck or fer odds, Redwings, etc. And you found a van did you? How about the punk scene? Are you a fan of The Germs? Did you get bed bugs on futons? I bet you know a guy who squats on stoops - slinging brown acid - and skateboards with a ( Read more... )

Pete Limpelli’ Wing Tipped Shoes, and His Attitude and Outlook on Life: a Haiku

Limpelli’s winged tips

Pointing skewed views of the world

Sepia insights

William Comparetto

© 2007

Editor’s Note:

Check out this new poet: Joshua Alan Henderson.        

Poem: Written on a Pastel Colored Electric Typewriter in an Old Haunted Haunt

July 21, 2007 Matthew Reiland and William Comparetto

The stir over wokey flames and breath longs

New style pesto - thai bricks -

Some of the flourettes made it - the rest - shucked - fuckem

I called him - he pretended we were martian - not from the same

“Buying jugs,” he ( Read more... )

A Hotel in Clifton along Central Parkway

I was thinking about you Pete Limpelli, sepia on your face, blotchy liverspotty wrinkles lathered over your slender angry frame. Oh yes, those kids owed Carmine fifteen hundred - you are so Pavlovian. Drool from under your aviators, I can see you Pete Limpelli, grim and winged tipped - supine and ( Read more... )

Hengeku

Hubba Bubba Show:

Long time listeners, no time

Callers. I read pastiche.

William Comparetto

© 2007

            “Minchia!” Pete screamed into the paint flecked mirror above the slender bureau against the wall by the television.

“Epic proportions is fuggin’ right!”

Pete clawed the telephone on the nightstand and roughly pawed it on the still vibrating bed. He set it down forcefully, and the bells inside the housing clanged ( Read more... )

            “And that’s the basic parlay you want to put on a fifteen to one horse,” Sam crowed into the gooseneck microphone. “You never want to play up the favorite,” he paused for a dramatic moment - something Henge knew to be a common radio trick, “The payoff just isn’t good enough.”

Henge nodded on his milk crate by the wall, and ( Read more... )

            Henge walked down the block to the apartment building in which the radio station was. There was an exterior basement stairwell with a door wide open, beckoning in any fresh air in the mid August pate. Down the cement stair was a row of washing machines and dryers against a rough stone wall - hewn a century ago at least - cobbled stones ( Read more... )