Open Mike Night Reading


I read some of my writing at open mike night,
at the coffee house Java Jones,
in Santa Barbara on Sunday.

It marked the first time I had done anything public with my writing
(not counting the interwebs).

I thought maybe my darkish brooding writing would clash
with the light musical performances
and general theme of lighthearted mirth
of the preceding acts. (I went up last)

But I was pleasantly surprised that people stuck around,
and were really respectful and on board while I read my pieces.

I decided I wouldn’t try to compete with the background noise
(people talking, ordering, shuffling around, squeaking chairs etc.)
by reading more loudly or forcefully,
and instead read in a quite gentle timbre.
But to my surprise
the entire place seemed to respond
by listening with pin quite wrapped attention.
(Makes me think of a study I heard about where researchers
found that people with loud overbearing conversation styles
were listened to less then those with quite sparring ones.)

The pieces I read were well received
and it gave me a lot of encouragement
that my writing could eventually be of value
to more than just myself.

Also, reviewing my writing
for pieces I was to read out loud,
made me re-evaluate my work from that perspective.
As a result I made a few key edits
that I feel made the pieces much stronger.

Here were the pieces and order I read them:

On Almond Street


First,
our nervous hand holds – shaking voices
then,
the warm smashing of our soft bodies
birthed from thin shells
left to drag our tender bellies across the sand

back when you scared me beautiful
like high cliffs or wild oceans

before the cold came
the frosted streets
your wet breath – twisting the air
thin legs, big jacket
biting your lip
left behind

did you fall behind the stove
and rot like an old grape?
or stick to the window
like a wet leaf?

you’re the black pain in my fingers
when i wade through old photos
or icy waters
to capture you in a pickle jar
and wonder why your light went out

now
i walk the moon and wonder
(the beasts eye me carefully)
would your dark eyes spill from our children?
would you keep your mysteries closer to god?

it’s morning now
red birds scatter like hot beads
and sizzle in the wet sky

Rosemary
i’m waiting for you on almond street.



You Can’t Take Her Picture


A fast stroke of red soot
smeared in haste
across white fences

simmer over low heat
to bring out her natural sugars
or she leaves a bitter coating in your mouth
like an unripe persimmon

she’s the burnt out ends of cloudy skies

she’s laced up and ready to fight

she’s deerskin wrapped tight
around sharp flint

she’s a thin cymbal crashing far away
like a dusty moth you’re not sure is there

you can shout
but in a room full of wounded soldiers,
why should she care?



Clear skies and summer


You said i crushed you
and rubbed you out
your tired eyes drowning
i couldn’t stop laughing

they say
you left by thunder
using the clouds as cover

now the buildings sag together
like soggy fingers
groping the burnt sky
for the hem of your dress

at work i think i see you
i run out
in the middle of negotiations
thinking of your funny faces

its summer now
during lazy sundays
i almost hear you
jingle faintly
behind the cupboards

when the dry heat
splits wild pomegranates
i almost smell you

since you left
everything is chaos -
the cat jumps on the counter
and licks the butter.