Black Friday

Some where
far beyond dexterity:
a suburban half life for
Fahrenheit’s latitude
a man is being wrestled
down by the state police.
Shoved complacently in the cold
white fluffy snow covers his naked face
as he’s still assured his rights
for cutting the line in front of Walmart.

I wrote this poem a couple of years ago.  I’ve always thought this idea of waking up at 5:00am for a sale to be ridiculous, but then again I hate crowds, I’m not a morning person, and I’m very suspicious about everything, even sales.  Regardless, I never thought that someone would be trampled to death over a sale, especially in 2008.   This is really sad.

On WHFR

I read (out loud) two Sundays ago on WHFR, which was really exciting.  I haven’t read aloud…for years.

It reminded me about how important it is to hear the words you’re speaking, the importance of pronouncing your voice, the completely unstable voice. 

I met some really uplifting artists at WHFR.  It was like an arts commune that ranged from reading excerpts from novels and poetry manuscripts, playing live music, comedy, improv…   It was an apartment full of breath, full of buds ready to flourish in this time of uncertainty, a room filled with togetherness. 

I read 8 of my poems, and played a couple songs off my band’s full length (Love, Lust, Sci-fi & Monsters), and our self-titled EP (Telenovela Star). 

Here’s the list: BackSpaced, The Season, Mania, Architecture of “You”, Soucouyant and Loupgarou, Vampire from Telenovela Star’s Lust, Love, Sci-fi & Monsters album, Elma, My Imaginary Margin, Brown Girl In the Ring, A Plum from Telenovela Star’s self-titled EP.

Listen here:  Reading on WHFR

I’ll Take the Bus

I can accept the breeze 

believe that it is air

air enough for me to breathe

makes me cleaner

so I’m so sure of my belongings too, standing still

XOXOed as a shameful that can’t wake up

running, keep on running XOXOed incapable of a tabla rasa

Sures I’ll make sure everyone close to me is aware of Power.

We won’t depend on a riot or one singular revelation

sharpen, as dull as cutlasses

as bright as misguised bullets, exploding from a Yankee’s Rebel…

I will depend on your selfishness

your eager pretense of wanting to care

but not caring really

I will depend on your indiscretion

as you believe it’s all dependant on what you feel

as what you want, doesn’t, isn’t in my existence

right now or ever

when you think it’s time to stop

when you have your fools to dance around your mirror

and muddy consideration?

yourself reflected fully flush, pandered around your peers

you never consider anything else

Yeah!

when tomorrow is just tomorrow

when we know that our phenomenal experience isn’t as immediate as

the phenomena expected

where Yeah exists.

I hope that these impressions stay with you

like the scars dealt to me for being open

as long as you live

I hope you live with just that amount of fear

living, breathing, preparing yourself for an attack

as you sit calmly with someone’s else’s blood on your shit: maybe it’s your own

wishing they were gone

as you sit and wait for Yes

to magically appear?

I’m still going to have Metal beating through me tomorrow

I’m still going to text my lover, I heart yous, and still be under-represented

infected with insanity, perversion, illegality

until I’ve been completely molded into something accustomed

I, continues, growing into a form

a persuasion for pettiness

and oh, I thank you God for my nose, eyes, and ears

because I couldn’t have reckoned without them

I couldn’t have survived this Love

Live Reading

It’s weird how things happen. It was only a few weeks ago that Paul recommended I read some of my poetry, and then I was asked to read on whfr.org.

The program will be streaming live from 1-7pm this Sunday, November 9. If you miss it, I should have the mp3 soon to post.

Live music and readings. I’m on at 3:30pm. Check it out.

tcboyle_whfr

Funny

When is it okay for a silly old goat to grope your breast?

Is it when the likely hood of him being straight is very slim?

Does it make it completely okay for a gay man to cop a feel

when he isn’t your sweetheart, he’s hardly ever going to be one of those crushes you have

you ever have, over someone you admire enough for a drunkard moment to happen?

No, it’s never going be any of those mornings after having a dream

a very wet dream, when awkwardness is a foreground for possibilities…

When does familiarity become too euphonized as funny, crazy, oh he’s just a silly old man, I know him, I know what he meant? An exercise in excusing how it didn’t meant to make me feel. 

I really hope this rule could pass onto me, when I’m a silly old goat, “that… guy”

parading my charm