Tag Archives: Frankie Leone

-commitment issues-

*by someone committed*
(frankie leone, just a man)

*a friend and i

watch the three compete

on the sidewalk of lorimer street

from my burgundy-ish car

sufficiently aged



and foreign*


*two polish kids, eighteen or nineteen

one black dude, mid twenties

the kids’ mouths run at full sprints

the black guy’s jogs leisurely

unintimidated, amused

until, “get outta our neighbuhhood nigguh”

trips off the tongue of a pole

as he walks away, still speaking

eyebrows on a coffee-colored face

flex a shocked expression upwards

before a warm smile cuts it in two

he rams his chest

into the courageous mouth’s owner

face to face

his words hustling in earnest

“please do sumthin’ stupe-it

i’m muthuh fuckin’ beggin’ you puhrowgee

please please do sumthin’ stupe-it”

one shooting track star nervously spectates

while the confronted kid loses

all the breath that

drove ground-covering words

and bolts to sanctuary in the corner bar

with his luminous smile the black guy shines

a commentators spot-light on the other competitor

wordlessly observing the lack of heart in this race

the remaining kid drops out with no dignity

walking with anxious speed up the block*


*i share my thoughts

on the concluded sporting event

into rollie smoke my friend’s

hung through the interior of my car

“fucking terrible form

whether it’s to

some guy in the street

or a lover in bed

come correctly or don’t come at all

those dudes have serious commitment issues”

my friend smiles in agreement

while i turn the ignition key

in charitable applause.*


-casual encounters-

*by someone displeased

emotions are hard to fuck away*

(frankie leone, just a man)

*experience vomits most strangers give lousy head*


*her eyes won’t leave the horizon

staring safety pins without fasteners

in and out of reason and logic

green eyes set in this rough face stare back

blinded comfortably with reckless hope

light blue irises in a navy night sky aren’t feeling kind

granting enough vision to see a silhouette of the truth*


*the machine snows my face with an emotionless glow

in frenzied loneliness i search its features

i’ll find a blind-fold until dawn

it’s unimportant if it’s made

with old money cashmere

blood money razor wire

skin of woman, man, beast, or bird

orange light seeps through dirty windows of my loft

the same shade as a cigarette cherry in darkness

a cigarette cherry burning with utilitarian purpose*


*the wrong bodily fluids are sexier than desperation

the desperate, negotiate, compromise, accept

the desperate grope, grasp, gasp in the dark

the desperate resign, surrender, contract fuck its

south *** street and ******

second floor apartment

above a laundromat

names aren’t exchanged*


*it doesn’t seem unreal, doesn’t feel too real

simply now

we walk up the staircase

one solid flight to a tepid unknown

on the way up

“are you high right now”

trickles from his hopeful lips


“you seem so calm

you’re not high”

“i’m like this most of the time

i don’t need drugs to throw down a fuck”

he doesn’t laugh, he giggles



*first kiss

reform school girl

italian, rich, big tits

originally from chi-town

timidly, in the back

of a twelve person van*


*he persists with formalities

“would you like a drink”

“i don’t need it”*


*first kiss

27-year-old gay guy

asian, rich, defined body

originally from across the pacific

straight hair pulled back unapologetically

he’s pinned against a south side apt. wall*


*he’s fucked plenty of accelerated nights into blood-shot dawns

i’m not intimidated just scared for myself

of what, i’m too much of a coward to identify

my wounded aggression startles him into speech

“you said you’ve never hooked up with a guy before”




“you’re not high”

“please stop asking”

“what’re your kinks”

“i don’t know, how does this all work

straight people don’t use that term”

“you’re making it too complicated”

menacing silence

more awkward than a lost hard-on

i sucker punch it

“i want to fuck you from behind”

“i’m not a whore

i don’t do one night stands”

i don’t try to understand, just accept

this feels like coercing a friend to lend what he can

“could you suck me off”

a small spill of a smile cuts out of those features into my memory*


*soft a minute or so in

“i’m pretty nervous”

“i would be too”

he stays on his knees

ass shifting onto ankles

i decide

“i’m going to leave”


“i’m being rudely honest with a stranger

but my cock’s been in your mouth

i realize now, too late

i came here to connect with someone

that was a ridiculous idea”

black eyes focus on my face firmly

the intensity’s almost gentle

before relaxing in resolution

“we could go on a date sometime”

the night’s events are strung out enough

half-aspirin lies aren’t on my to-do list

the subject changes abruptly, i speak

“what do you do”

“i’m an interior designer

what do you do”

“i move apartments and go to college, both full time

in spare moments of agony i do things like this

writing them into creative non-fiction later, part time”

expecting a satisfying response

would be expecting a pony from santa

his family might be buddhist

“you’ve never hooked up with a guy

and you’re not high”

irritation distracts me

my voice pisses

on the toilet seat intentionally

“no, fucked up right

what’s your name”

“alfonso, what’s yours”


we shake hands, i continue as a human being

“sorry for messing up your night alfonso”

it doesn’t register this motherfucker’s italian as jet li*


*down one solid flight

into the streets of brooklyn

the truth pulls me by the ear

towards my ten speed bicycle

as my pajama pants pocket vibrates

the text message reads




*by someone finding freedom

one humbling experience at a time*

(frankie leone, just a man)


*a dollar store fan

missing a blade

blows onto my skin

coated in a thin layer of sweat

clothed only in powder blue boxer shorts

covered with a print of cowboys and indians

and an unfiltered camel burns in these long digits

decorated with cut scars and tattoos

before being put out into an old coffee mug

resting on a small table

adorned with black and bronze mosaic tiles

while i remember*


*she lives uptown

and loved her bicycle

saying it gave her freedom from our city’s

subterranean network of grinding metal

and tired faces

freedom from its control of her time

and stolen moments from the streets*


*someone likely pursuing

powder and liquid relief from reality

relieved her of it

with a pair of bolt cutters

and a relaxed conscience

she’s petit

so her bicycle was pint-sized


and like a child’s

had streamers coming from the handlebars*


*she’s taken the subway to see me in brooklyn

and we walk along an empty north 8th street

as the sun drops

towards my idea of a romantic evening

on the water at east river state park

the sky breathes an easy summer breeze on us

and she tells me more about grieving chloe,

the name she’d given the pink bicycle

moments before we see it

chained to the gate of a building

near the corner of berry street*


*”whoever lives here stole my bike”

she says in wide-eyed shock

in a normal speaking tone

“lucky you”

i respond

drawing a trouble-filled smile

her expression shuffles into irritation

“how do you figure that”

“i know a decent booster

let me call him

if he’s free

chloe will be yours again

in a half hour

if he isn’t

you’ll have your freedom from the m.t.a.

back by midnight

because i have a decent hack saw

four blocks away

in my roomie’s toolbox”

her irritation morphs to surprise

“that’s illegal

you could get in trouble”

i don’t respond

and watch her face go contemplative

she continues

“i guess this is this person’s karma though”

“probably not”

i answer

“what do you mean”

“it’s the booster’s and the fence’s karma

this person was just dumb enough to buy a stolen bike

rich girls in williamsburg

with apartments on the north side

aren’t cutting bicycle locks uptown

to pay rent”

surprise shifts to sadness

“don’t call your friend

don’t come back here later

and don’t ever mention this again”


i respond

“i’m not going to inflict

the pain i felt losing chloe

on someone else”


you’re getting your bike back”

now she’s angry

“no i’m not

you’re not doing shit

and i don’t want to hear about this again”

my ego absorbs the blows

and i keep my mouth shut

before we walk

the last two blocks to the park

in awkward silence.*