exchange

the toothpicks are all wearing party hats
your cheeks are pink with drunkenness

the dim light suits you, when you smile
against the music in my direction

hair in your eyes and sand in your shoes
separating into the carpet fibers

from that kiss on the dune
with that other girl--blond, tall and beautiful--

that i watched from someone else's car
his hand on my the jeans hugging my thighs

summer is almost here for exchange
of goods and our partners' tent beds

creepy looking dude with awesome voice seeks listening audience

first, a little something live:


this is my fav song of theirs, possibly because it was the first one i heard.




there's a bit of a lynchian feel to some of these videos. i'd love to see what david could do for a nick cave and the bad seeds song if he directed a video for them.

the poetry reading at gallery x

at the poetry reading at gallery x
in downtown new bedford
to hear neeli cherkovski talk
about his friend, charles bukowski,
i stared at jose's hair the whole time

i didn't know his name was jose
until john landry asked him to get up and read
and he read a poem from temper
with a thick accent, in a white t-shirt
that read P.E.Z. on the front

his hair looks best from the back
but it didn't look that bad from the front either
black, straight locks the flaired out
at the ends between deltoids
or whatever you call the muscles that rest on shoulder blades

promise #16

to smile whenever you bring my cut flowers

filling the empty space on the island
in the kitchen

with joy and forgivness

and other warm feelings that come with this
kind of love we share

for karl

promise #15

not to drown you out
when my the beat between my thoughts
crescendos

into the back of the room
where Dead Bird's ghost dances

and sings

into the night, dark and unwelcome

not to drown in your voice
like the dependant child i crave to become

wrapped in strong arms and warm
with memories of love

promise #14

to stop putting sugar in my black pearl tea

humming the infusion of silk
and hot water in boiled ceramic

the therapy we speak of, with chocolate and dill,
sweet mysteries, our bellies

that sing us to sleep and dream
of far away sea shores and bicycle spokes.

promise #13

my addiction to
your chaos

if i could not see, nor dream

the fourth dimension folding upon itself
like our blanket in the moments after

we make sense of it together
the math of infinity and the

weight of anti-matter

you wait and i trouble through
in the dark, towards you, at the speed
of your sound
flickering off the unpainted walls

i promise, i love you

Dear BBC

First, make Plush Figures of these little fatties:



Then, send 12 of them to my house.

Please and Thank you,
Katy

promise #12

longer poems will come later

promise #11

the papers will not read themselves

a list of things you're allowed to put in meatloaf according to John Landry

for john landry, poet laureate of new bedford

bread crumbs
plain oatmeal
chicken noodle soup
marinara sauce

promise #10

for michelle

if i get one, you can borrow it.

promise #9

your messages on the bathroom stall door

saved a life

destroyed a relationship

and helped someone on a biology exam

-thank you.

promise #8

the market share
for your simple idea
will increase with testing

performed by Germans in laser-protective goggles
on the shores of two landlocked countries