Monthly Archives: April 2013

will there be LED sheep after the apocalypse?

you know what’s coming up, right? the first tuesday of may is coming up, which means we’ll be flooding the basement at sycamore with words and chords! come listen and/or sign up to read! festivities start promptly at 9 (which means if you show up around 10 you won’t have missed very much, but try showing up before 10, arright?). take that Q to Courtelyou! we’ll see you there. we’re the ones with the bells on and the beers in our hands and the chapbooks for sale.

if you need some extra encouragement, check these words from the latest chapbook by miz kate conte, primo poetess and all around cool gal:

No Sugar

Mother’s music is March rain
street crosser, dish washer
grocery grip strips
fingers bloodless
ankles ache from overweight
bills, put-down Picasso’s &
late they-trieds—
she treads walnut hard wood
with 5th cup tea
no sugar, just milk
her nest, empty.

It was snowing,
when a home quieted
It was snowing,
when daughter said
soon.

post-apocalyptics OUT.

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Best Cheap Haircuts

here’s hoping spring morning birds for all your new days. love, will machi and margie sarsfield. 

Best Cheap Haircuts

It was the homeowning age;
                   having one foot
                  out the door and remembering
                   forgetting the coat, the hat
           and/or the shoes (either/or)
           one can say I am
                   missing these
                    and my foot

            is unfondleable. Would a stranger
            fuck you, buy you a house, expect you
                   to keep a track?
                                        Take the loan. Buy the
                     penny, luckless
          growing with each new discovery
          like one keeps bumping into

dinosaur bones. Brushed dainty and swift
copper – rushed back the chopper
                    exalting
                    exultant
                    no more mire

             conspiracy theory, the kind
                      gone deeper into anyone could
                      have imagined it is no longer
               a conspiracy theory
                              it is a sincerity theory.
                It’s an earnestness epidemic.
                      Out coatless in the leaping North
                           tunnels under Buffalo

a shitty place to vacation.
                   A marrying age;
                   a bird
                   and a bird and a bird and 
                   many others like it,
                   that we resemble

in our birdhomes. seeds out.
                     feed me feed him feed
                     us, sounded out
                                                     in mouths on and on.
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