couldn’t even see to drive this morning.
i usually get these when the stress in my life builds to an unimaginable level.
surprise.
in other news, i haven’t eaten and i haven’t thrown up.
whee.
(took me ten minutes to type this — i just checked)
Can I demand
joy
of the universe?
Can I imagine
myself
into an ecstasy?
Can I say that
this is not perfect?
Can I lie about God?
Can you look me in the eye
and tell me I don’t know
happiness when I see it?
I see it.
I am not afraid of it now.
Can I be unfraid long enough
to take it, hold it close,
deathless,
until I lose myself inside?
Once again, where I am
I’ve updated my feature listing for those of you who are actually interested in where I’ll be so you can avoid me with pinpoint accuracy, as javabill would say.
Go here for that:
http://www.livejournal.com/users/chryslerpoet/288375.html
Still looking for an October gig, and any fill-ins here and there.
What Sunday Is Like
he thinks Sunday
is something
like a chance for love
thinks something
like not knowing what it means
to be in love, or about love not being an answer,
though it is not a question either, more a punctuation mark
in a long sentence, and something about it being
a way of knowing the difference between
stretches of encumbrance and moments of freedom
something like flight
something like a woman on stage
opening herself like an envelope
never mailed
something like postage due
something like understanding eyes
and a whiff of memory
something like the way
he sits on the stool
and after four drinks
sneaks a peek
into the strippers’ dressing room
something like grasping
for someone else’s
sanctuary
something he thinks he’s been given
by right of birth
something like a false idol
something he never had
something that disowned him
something he is ashamed of
something like the way he turns away
retreats to his car
drives the short way home
something like waking
from a just deferred thought
of home and knowing
it’s not likely to be recaptured
something like the dread that says
never go home
something like another sabbath
devoid of rest and sacrament
something like God
not having a bloody thing
to say to him
in the still of the car
after the engine
is turned off
and before
he opens the door
Happy Birthday to the world’s greatest poetic dinosaur, Morris Stegosaurus! May he never become extinct.
Continue readingfinally
After all the years I’ve been in the slam scene, at last I rate: this is one of the first certified David Huang photographs of me reading a poem at an NPS.
Since I only read one this time around…it’s obviously “The Last Word” at the Erotic Reading.
http://www.poeticdream.com/photo.php?gid=298&pid=05081101025445
shameful plugz
Where’m I gonna be?
Sept. 11, afternoon: Middleboro MA arts festival. Feature.
Sept. 11, evening: Java Hut, Worcester. Home venue feature — the worst kind. 😀
Sept. 28: evening: Brooklyn, NY. Feature with Patrick Rosal and Barbara Newsome at Words of Wisdom , in the Spoken words Cafe in Park Slope.
November 19: A gig in So. Jersey, near Philly. Again, details later.
Dec. 11: Nantucket, Ma — feature at the Nantucket Poetry Slam.
Full detail as each event approaches.
Of course, there’s the Hut most Sundays and SPEAK on the alternate Wednesdays.
October is empty. Anyone want to offer suggestions?
Penny Players feature tonight
was terrific —
loved the interactive cheese grilling, the filmstrip poem…brilliant.
it reminded me of the old adventurous WAG Open Stage days. (Inside reference, sorry. A lamented performance space a lot of us in this scene cut our teeth on in the late Eighties/early Nineties. It had a Wednesday night open stage that included everything from performance art to hardcore to classical guitar to poetry to acappella improvisation to hostage taking and live shotgun blasts. Those were the days.)
After ward, I cruised Worcester a bit, had a coffee at the Hut, and came home. I’m a sad loser of a hipster, I guess.
Later…
Oh, almost forgot…
I went out at lunch and got the tattoo I meant to get in Albuquerque.
The word “mestizo” (for a mixed Native/White person) on my left shoulder, to parallel the word “poet” on my right.
States of being, y’know?
Fun facts about NPS and me
1. I skipped every side event except Slamfamily and the Erotic Open.
2. I read one poem the whole time I was there. It was not at Slamfamily.
2a. The poem I read is called “The Last Word” and is better known as “Let’s Fuck.” Based on observed NPS behavior, though, I think I’ll be changing the title to “Wanna Make Out?” Making out seems to be the equivalent of a business card exchange in the slam community these days.
3. I got drunker on Wednesday than I have in a good two years — since last NPS, I suspect.
4. When someone told me (no names) that she didn’t recognize me because I’d gotten grayer, my recent weight loss of 50+ lbs. became as dust in my mouth.
5. I skipped getting another tattoo because I would have had to stay up too late.
6. I indulged my upper middle class income to splurge on a convertible for a cruise out into the western desert to Acoma.
7. I was confirmed in my desire and need to move to New Mexico. Again.
8. I confirmed my complete retirement from slam competition. Again.
9. Yes, this includes iWPS.
10. I realized that since I grew up in a dysfunctional family, the slam family is the only type of family I am remotely capable of functioning in.
Poems of the week for me: Rachel M. doing “…Wish You Were Beautiful,” DC/Baltimore (Christian Drake) doing “Birdwatching,” and Matt McDonald of Delawhere doing “Jeanne D’Arc” — and scoring well with it. Really well.
See y’all in Austin, if not sooner. Maybe we’ll make out.
Bargh
I am socompletelymotherfuckingoverwhelmed with schoolworkhomefamilyscenedrama that I might start a band just to put everything totally overthefuckingtop.
How do you think I’d look in a formal straitjacket?
weights and measures
the greatest measure
of her pain
was that sole eyelash
that fell
from her face
as she wiped away tears
disbelieving
what she was seeing
but the scale tipped
back in her favor
when she closed her eyes tight
and turned away
from them
she was a whole year lighter
by the time
she reached the door
Feature in the offing…
I’ll be in Park Slope, Brooklyn, at Words of Wisdom/the Spoken Words Cafe on Sept. 28.
I’ll be featuring with Barbara Newsome and Patrick Rosal. (Info, anyone? Patrick Rosal’s work I think I know, but Barbara Newsome is unfamiliar to me.)
Details to follow…
Dark Matter 