Poets : reading on 4/21/17 @ Tip Top Bar

IMG_1865Tip Top Bar – 432 Franklin BK, NY – 8 till 10:30 – 21+ – 4/21/17

There’s a spill over of thick milk running down your forehead / God put it there to remind you it may be time to shower or wash the dishes or take a butter knife to your knee caps, shave them into a clay dish, sell the skin for a plane ticket to Australia and bake yourself to death under the ozone-less sky screaming, “Forgive me! For I am placid and all knowing and you are not, until proven otherwise!” Sunken sand
sinking at your feets. – RD 3/11/17

displaced planets

displaced planets air filtering near dildo dragon fighters / replacing grandmothers kneecaps, casks full of corn, masses dining on warehouse tables before changing a large pile of needles into hay – the question remains – who let the aztec stairs collapse underneath the crippled feet of the crow man? he who spends his weeks whispering patterns into shapes of the future, coughing up extinct medicines, never crying into meats, carving paths for mountain water to wash down severed cactus into the surrounding towns of bobbed wigs about to be photographed for a secret project involving the complete disintegration of the crow man’s tarot card


POSTmortem out now!

Purchase your copy from Mad Gleam press…

les chuchotements secrets / qui congestionnent les batiments politiques / grand lymphoide, entre les pipes d’eau gentiment vibre. / prenant soin des pauvres patriotes qui se noient dans le the’ / qui caressent les narines de la vieille chauvesouris aux yeux bandes, qui nous juge tous

ne craignez pas, enfants simples d’esprit! / ne craignez pas les restaurants italiens sur mulberry street! / ne craignez pas fermiers de kingston! / les recoltes de la revolution ne crient pas vos noms, mais / demandent votre indifference, comme toujours, / la prochaine association frappera vos chevilles avec une canne solitaire, apres que votre travail soit fini, / rampant le long des rues vides, cherchant un apercu rapide de communication physique / avant d’etre decapites devant un service postal, / la bave coulant du menton.

Reading Sunday 3/5/17 at Parkside Lounge in NYC

Sunday 3/5/17, some poetry, at PARKSIDE LOUNGE in Manhattan, 4-6pm, & it’s the future. Mad gleam press will be presenting (also may be copies of their latest release Post(mortem) for sale). I will read a few…here:

It’s true,
The existence of moisture
Planted within us
Looks like
Three colors, mixed & painted
Onto a jar
That hum in your head,
Which is as red as that son
Of solomon,
Some bar-back told you about,
Crying for more milk, again, the
Exact repetition of bo biddley’s,
Shaking your palms, on some
Odd street in atlantic city,
Without a dollar in your system,
Whispering to yourself,
Who is god,
Can only exist on loving prayers


In the misty dark


in the misty dark / walk to slave for an imaginary god of rent / and we all labor and are in disguise/ no person to weep, we are fed / should be happy with that / but, why do we still need? / the clever leper sings, blue water clear / i dance on balloons / we chop trees / for a boat to carry us into space / unharmed/ full of memories / blind with survival / breathing newness, to exude passions of light onto the / eardrums of nothing monks