High Tide My family has perfected the art of keeping secrets Skilled at telling lies through rotted teeth Whiskey and loose tobacco spilled on splintered coffee tables Shuddering at the sound of th…
Saturday, November 14 at 8:00PM!
167 Hackett Blvd. Albany NY
Come celebrate the release of Drunk In A Midnight Choir Volume 1: Welcome To The New Hallelujah!
With poetry readings from The Choir’s own:
Drinks will be served. Hugs will be given. Good times will be had by all!
Martin Luther Clings
To the Catskill Bananas
The red fox writes in a flower home to his great-ant Chevy
No, they are mangos
Table top ten-speeds
Zip whirling around the fruit bitch
Like a man unmade
Checking the lotto for a succulent heartbreak
With the moth of the month club
Your sweet pot of toes is quiet, Frank Lee, the best.
No welcome, your thank you.
Payphone impregnates an acetone
An Abscess found on Holly’s wood
I think my son met Cherie here
Take a foe and sign it from exes and hoes
Turn icicles to Xerox
Where do we put the static when the fridge has come undone?
Why the mustard rat sews so many quilts, we’ll just never know.
Smother an apple branch in the yard
95 pages ducked and raped on a bodega door
The whore of the thesis singing Monty killed the python in the kitchen I know, oh, oh, oh
eating what i said last night for breakfast….
There is a distinct before I published in The Rumpus http://therumpus.net/2015/07/songs-of-our-lives-looks-like-rain-by-the-grateful-dead/ and a distinct after. What a wonderful little creative world changer! Since it’s publication last week I’ve received so many emails, notes, messages on my various sites about how important the story was to the readers. I have received so many personal stories about others experiences as a Deadhead and I have also received just simple, powerful – “I love you”s – it’s overwhelming and beautiful and I can’t thank everyone enough for the support & sharing.
What a short strange trip its been 🙂
A poem for a poem I gave Jake the last inhale Watching the a willow tree in a cow pasture turn to gold in the Acidic sunrise of a July we tried for years to forget. The long streams of branch swaying in a breeze that bumped my gooses From collar bone to sternum Raised buttons of oooooh, of ahhhhh, Of push them, push them - - we will never get out of here if we don't move faster Before I fall apart Jake falls asleep against the wind Shielded dreaming of a riddle on a Popsicle stick His tiny fingers clutching it Jamming it into his mother’s wringing hands Asking her to just tell him what it means that he can longer read French (as I flip the tent stake Mallet around and around, leav ing bruises in the ground, wondering if it is God or my child I…
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is my Spotify playlist.
I should have just told you the truth.
I’m not married.
You’re just creepy and obnoxious and I’m never going to be interested in you.
Publishing two days in row calls for a post. I know, I know, I’m terrible at keeping up. But I’m busy writing other things – and submitting – and getting through grad school – and raising an 8 year old – and trying to not sleep as much as possible – and add a few hundred more things.
Just popping in to say so excited for the last day and spread the love for the two wonderful places I have been accepted in!
Here. This is my soul. Every thing I was in lines and pauses. Everything I am in quiet whispers and guarded truths. Wait to see if it’s all rejected.