Thursday, May 20, 2010

delta migrant backwater blues

smokestack northern skylines

beckon dusty southern hands


and husbands

take the rails


muddy water



howlin’ bloody


factory fair share

lily white lie,

american dreams

gone in

smokestack lightning

blues collars look best on black necks

Monday, May 17, 2010

scent of memory

wiff of

parking lot

cigarette smoke

wraps me


hfstival mosh pit



bar bathroom


stale floor

beer & vomit

and i’m pledging


class of ‘02


spliff stank


on clink from

cheersing friends

snaps me

present and

accounted for

to brand new

Boulder CO.


pint raised revelry

welcoming to adulthood


ten years from


freshly brewed tea

medicinal only

reminds of mile high

house warming


Thursday, May 6, 2010

no title

there is a place

near the Maryland border

where the rock breaks right through the ground

and the gray hands that pull it from the earth

are the same that lay the foundations

of the little gray houses that line the road

cut to fit without mortar

the granite smoothes its

rough edges to gentle parabolas

under two hundred years of gravity

built before the great depression

before the dust bowl migrants

and mr Jackson defied the supreme court

when black was black

and white was white

before The american dream

gray hands built gray windows for gray faces

to, upturned, catch the sun on a sunny day

and the only dreams

are those that came to tightly closed eyes

Monday, May 3, 2010

MediaVirus Monday

The new issue of MediaVirus is now up! You can check it out here: MediaVirus Magazine. In this issue we feature poetry from G. David Schwartz and Gary Beck, new short fiction from Christopher Kugler, and a review by Lawrence and myself of Puma Perl's new poetry collection Knuckle Tattoos. Also featured are two new, unpublished selections from Lawrence and my libraries. Enjoy!

Friday, April 23, 2010

Yusef's blood

To create anything

you need

a deep abiding love

of the sound of man

making poetry

from air

Comprehend the drive,

the need to shape the natural world

to our design

sculpt breath and will and

sex into acoustic control

god’s gift and man’s mind

melding together into momentary reality

fixed in that instant of creativity


and fleetingly

in the left brain of those present

Musicians spitting gold

coins from under their tongues like

greek kings in the maestro box

No wonder Apollo was

the Archer