Saturday, April 12, 2003
Urban Epiphany update
Joe Todaro and I have secured over 100 readers for Urban Epiphany, the community gathering of Western New York poets, which will take place on Sunday, April 27. The event will be taped for later broadcast on public access television at the Home of the Future. Visit the link above to sign up, download the flyer, and see who's on the roster.....
In other Buffalo poetry news, there are several readings of note coming up:
Tonight, Saturday, at Nietzsche's, 7pm, Tom Piccillo, Jean Horohoe, Tim McPeek and Susan Peters are reading. GREAT lineup.
Irving Feldman will be reading at the Burchfield-Penney Art Galley at Buffalo State College Sunday April 13 at 2 pm.
Brian Lampkin and I are the two poets performing as part of the Buffalo Song Project Band on April 25 at the Ralph Nader/Patti Smith rally at the Koessler center. (This, for me, is a personal dream come true & I am ecstatically excited.)
. . .
Sandra Guerreiro on WBFO. Fantastic!
"ain't no sunshine when she's gone" by Sandra Guerreiro
there is a cure for that you might find it elsewhere instead of inside you the mind is it's own place guilt is like fragments attached to your hands like conversations that sometimes cut make sure you never wash it or let it go
find out the last day your lips touched secure investment as a back to lean upon injury to consume until feet are released from pleasure a testimony of happy grief found in those eyes the ones that could not leave your forefront when altitude ruled
savage is better than sage for training is never scheduled and attempts have sweet crust in a natural cause for urban disease melancholy feeds on itself like cannibals do when they get together was it a feast you thought life would be? for even children can be happy when cruel
it matters when life is turned upside in instead of out when language was said to be monstrous when destiny was quoted as a bad joke preciousness was a mistake written down by a lazy clerk
drama is a color entropy could save somebody's day a kiss could release somebody's life for longing is errant even when serving suggestions are provided as death is sometimes i dream you just to be able to see you clearly for your allowance was thought to be line in time as a quest as a question precise as a needle dreadful as sweat cotton
somebody's voice is also someone's wrist a physical explanation for a sour word like cream when it turns into liquid an ocean when it burns
one step further and this back will crack inside it will be thought as a meteor seen on the other side of horizon that line that makes colors what they are colors shaved as ice
. . .
Monday, April 07, 2003
My pal and poet-in-arms Kristi Anne Meal reading poems and being interviewed on WBFO. (Note: Kristi will be one of the nearly 100 readers at Urban Epiphany, 4/27, in Buffalo.)
"Turn of the Century Period Piece: Disheveled Sequence"
By: Kristi Meal
oooo, women looovvvve her. where is she? even when she's right here in the room she's intimidating to approach. something about her aura, the way something entirely goes on around her while she leans against a wall. something, something, but what is it? where is she?
does anybody know what a coup is? C-O-U-P. A "brilliant sudden stroke or stratagem"- definition number 1, Merriam-webster desk version. coup de desire coup de denial coup de coup coup de constellations and stars the coup was not violent, not on this side of the veil, no, thus precluding the need for d'etat, that popular high school history class carryover. and besides, that was history this is now. no, no coup but bad mathematics. the blame, by a brilliant sudden stroke or stratagem, lies in mathematics. a coup de grace for the coup de truth.
the banal prospect of adulthood and its accompanying obscurities. at this turn of the millennia there seems no worse fate. what with weaponry consumerism fats self-denial subsidized manufacturing of flesh and the dingy purplish haze wafting off the horizon line at sunset. suppose its always been this way. clubs stones four seasons spice merchants roving bands of rogues pre-sanitation works and the great angry gods hurling malady upon whim or collecting taxes. grow up and die.
You create your vision once you've scene it that is the truth of this matterful world create what you like because you can love what you create because you have to stretch beyond reason for the things you love become beyond reason the love that you've become nevermind the reason nevermind the become of the world since we are yellowed until i'm home find me sewn in time
another confused guy spits on the pavement he does not look like a killer he does not look like a prophet
my walk is streaked smeared with unimpression gusts of flaccid beauty- what is this condition? this underindemnity?
insides, their televisions are on. glaze swallows whole face after face after face pushes through the latex screen. it flickers cold greyblue up there in that room.
it was a night of misunderstood options the sky swirled and so did the water. it rained body parts all those body parts thrown into the river.
israel are you waking now? your greys are facing the sun by now, burning
what if sound became all but some cry all but one heave thrust through the mouth of humanity? the Universe, left to engrave our stone- epitaph: 'Indifference You were provided room'
in a moment i saw all of the trees waving their arms at me. i took it personally.
Some new lover has inserted herself into my body she has no body "You're I'm mine yours" she tells me- "not enough" scratched in skin.
Play with me touch my hair let's fly out the room on one of these ships that keep tearing through her the smallest girl in the world-
time wavy time tendrils. the seas are tilting green shoots are hissing butterflies rush out the door
. . .
Poetry to Go in Buffalo.
. . .
|
. . .
|
