I Didn't Ask For Any Lip
I'm bored. I wrote a poem the other day! but dislike posting brand new poems since I'm supposed to submit them to journals and stuff... If I can ever get it together and follow through. So instead, here is a older poem that I have long loved, but will never read again publicly or publish …
Continue reading "The Blonde & The Bad Luck Monkey (A Poem As Time Machine)"
IN WHICH TEEN ENVY FROM THE MID 80'S SET MY SUMMER AFLAME SENDING ME ON A PATH OF SELF DESTRUCTION... HOW HAIR CAN KILL... HOW SOMETIMES THE ONLY THING THAT CAN SAVE YOU IS A MUSIC VIDEO... HOW HAIRSTYLES CAN SEPARATE FAMILIES... HOW NEW NOMINEES FOR THE ROCK AND ROLL HALL OF FAME CAN BE …
Continue reading "The Saturday A Song Saved My So-Called Life or The Nappy Virgin"
Seizure: being grabbed and tossed to the ground. In an instant, I became a bucking horse, forgiven everything except this moment. In exchange for a mouthful of blackened bacon sweating grease, here is a chaser of carpet and the hail of a table's debris. It is unusual, to say the least, to awaken face down on a carpet, …
The nice folks at Two Hawks Quarterly have published my story Madagascar, my first attempt this year to send out something else besides Poetry. (Not That There's Anything Wrong With Poetry). I sent it out on a lark just to gauge what would happen-- what happened next was a huge surprise to me. It was …
Continue reading "Creative Non-Fiction at Two Hawks Quarterly"
On the way to the hospital, I walk past Mosswood Park and was compelled to visit the amphitheater. Speckled key lights of sun were spilled randomly along the ground. When was the last time I was here: the late 90's men's group meeting? I was quite fond of those Sundays when a bunch of male …
SPOILER: I don't. They write me. I woke up in time to catch CBS Sunday Morning and the moment it was over, I clicked off the television, already annoyed by the Sunday morning crew newscast, and started getting myself dressed and my stuff together. Four notebooks, some print outs of articles and Other People's Poetry …
If you use a Yoruba chant to open a public event, welcoming the ancestors to join and be welcome in the proceedings, how do you close the ceremony and tell the ancestors, spirits-- thanks for coming! shows over now, yawl can go back to the far reaches of heaven or wherever... I ask because a …
Continue reading "The Spook By The Door (Who Wouldn’t Sit Still)"
By mid-day Sunday, Taqueria San Jose was packed. The gorgeous restaurant feels air lifted from Mexico and is bigger than you're currently imagining, with an outdoor fountain on the rarely used and kind of small brick patio. I ordered lunch and armed myself with chips and salsa. As I hit the door to leave, right …
Read this brief on point essay from 2008 about poetry slam. I’m at work, bored and found myself conversing with the article in my head. “The oral traditions of poetry are in trouble, and performers like this are to blame, performers who believe that as long as words are being performed, they don't have to …
my grandfather was my first employer. he worked as a landscaper and yard man for home owners along the Oakland Hills Piedmont, Berkeley. I was with him every summer between late grade school and Jr high. his drove a muscular Ford truck carpeted with spilled malts and holes candy wrappers, Styrofoam bowls for Big Macs. …
The Dirty Rat 