Feature update!!!!!

Tonight — I’m at the Worcester Youth Slam, at Green Hill Park (if it ain’t rainin’) or the Worcester Artists’ Group (if it is). 7ish.

Next Tuesday — very exciting, a little unnerving.

Peaceful Tomorrows is a group of Sept. 11 family members devoted to non-violent solutions to world issues. As part of a demonstration, they have a 1400 lb. stone block called “the Tomb of the Unknown Civilian” that they had on display at the DNC this week; they will be dragging it by hand on a cart to NYC for the RNC next month. They are stopping over in Uxbridge on Tuesday night for a public event — speakers, songs, and a poet — me. Free. At the Court Street Gallery.

Next Wednesday: Cantab — the return. It’s been a couple of years since my last Cantab gig, so this should be fun. My boss and coworkers are coming — come embarrass me!!! 8 till whenever.

Who says all the poets will be in St. Louis?

Here’s the first draft, with huge kudos to ablueeyedboy for providing the catalyst for this piece.

The story he posted about his friend dealing with racist remarks was a key in helping me think about my own experiences of hearing racist remarks about my own background, and thinking through the whole “what do I do now?” decision tree.

Still a first draft — missing the “monk” reference, which may or may not materialize here. And it’s in my usual first draft style of limited punctuation, which will change in the alter drafts for sure.

Thanks, Liam …couldna done it without you…

Casual

with your vinegar-gleam hair

tucked back
behind your ears
with your careful pose and your
neutrality you’ve gone
far
but now
oh now
your face goes to war
with your faith in your makeover

one small tic
of the lip betrays you
as small talk turns
to easy categories and comforting
lies about

those people

you are
one of those people
but that’s been
hidden from these people –

take a step back and dive away for a moment
from the safety
of being inside —

do you make it public?
do you embarrass your lover?
do you play the combat dog?
do you tear the dream from the mouths of babes?

or do you
take another drink
and bite down

hard?

Memory lapses on important details I should not forget.

Not receiving return e-mails about stuff that you thought was crucial.

The feeling I get when I contemplate the possibilities inherent in the word “incurable”.

Fear of losing my mind.

Fear of losing myself.

Fear of fear: the sense that I am ruled in so many ways by fear.

The fact that I do not dream. That my dreams seem inaccessible to me.

Self-pity, and the vicious circle that creates it and sustains it.

My self-image.

My lack of conviction.