Angelo Zeolla


Angelo Zeolla


Stoop Dub

As beads

of sweat trickle down

the flesh of this mid-summer


The six train softly

crawls down the elevated

towards Pelham Bay Station

side street of Mahan Ave twilight


Where wide eyed jazzmatazz

minded poet puffs a toscanello

in childlike emulation

of those long gone

birds of passage

whom he struggles to remember

in black & white contemplating

their possible exploits in

early novecento Pittsburgh

on 3 in the morning front stoop

amidst ambivalent outer-borough

banter about M5 beamers

dark tints and a chromed out

set of new shoes—

The moon looms overhead

knocked for six because the

stars won’t come out and play

cigar smoke drifts sheepishly

in the mix and guidos curse

the pungent stench it wreaks

They curse the poet decrying him

him a freak stinking of  toscanello

smoke who rocks a cheap

pair of  penguin

chuck taylors whose ideal world

is one in which all the banks are

razed down to their last glowing ember

and the only currency in circulation

is that raw poetry found at the bottom

of one’s soul that causes cats to be

one with the machinery of


night floating across roof tops

contemplating bop and always

remembering that BIRD LIVES


Where one only needs to

be content with the

rumble of barreling six train



sublime infinity

Where all this neighborhood

bullshit goes up in smoke

like puffs off a freshly lit


and the jazzmatazz

minded poet is enlightened

by tumultuous twisted


gallop of six train iron stallion

booking it double time for

heavenly Bleeker St.  

so Dago Bards can recite

some poetry and make

eyes at doll faced


sirens that whisper

sonnets heavenly.


Angelo Zeolla is a poet from the Bronx, NY.