Daily Archives: February 15, 2010

Duende and many others now LIVE ON CD!

Head on over to the Indiefeed Performance Poetry podcast site at http://performancepoetry.indiefeed.com and do two things:

1.  Listen to my old buddy Shappy’s sensitive take on the legendary “Chupacabra;”

2.  Make a measly ten buck donation and pick yourself up a copy of a double live CD of an outstanding night of poetry at New York City’s legendary Bowery Poetry Club.  Back in October of ’09, poets who have been featured on the Indiefeed site came together in a live showcase celebrating both Mongo (the host) and his ongoing efforts to make high-quality recordings of some of the finest performance poets in the world available to all FOR FREE as downloadable podcasts.

The CD set includes performances by folks such as Damian Dauchan, Ngoma, Mike McGee, Jeananne Verlee, Cristin O’Keefe Aptowicz, Mahogany Browne, Gary Mex Glazner, Bob Holman, and many, many others — 25 in all!  You’ll even get Duende — yup, Faro and me — doing the track “so much depends” which will be on our new album when it comes out later this year.

All proceeds go to helping support the work of this great site.  Check it out, and be sure to add it to your iTunes…you’ll get regular access to the new podcasts that Mongo posts all the time on the site.

Thanks in advance,

Tony

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Comets And Blood

In denial
of the wet
shine of ice
on the steps.
Been thinking
it’s warmer than
it actually is. I slip
and fall before I can
prepare myself for the
hazardous surface underfoot.

When my head
cracks into the porch floor
I see stars, midday stars
that are only in my eyes.  Novas
of sick bust out in my throat.
I am suddenly a universe born
of my mistake and my arrogance. 

Does the internal possession
of a galaxy or two
of pain and derangement
make me a god?  No —

I’m just flat on my back
on the stairs, my bleeding head
resting on the floor of my porch.
And I rent, so I don’t even own these —
small and pitiable here,
broken up and maybe even
seriously hurt, yet I fantasize
about power and glory,
the constellation of injury
provoking delusions.

Inside, comets and violet
energy. Outside, blood congealing
in the sharpened air
of February.  Between them,
a foolish man.  I’d better get up
before I freeze this way.

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