Versemeister's Convention

Many many days buried beneath Andre Breton's Nadja and From Socrates to Satre;
I have finally gotten around to project #10, which in blueprints involves stitching Intravenous lines into the seams of my ancient cinderblock grey sport coat.

I am no longer hassled by china and demitasse or the impending threat of liquefying the interior dermal ridges of the roof of my mouth with boiling water seeing to that Sumatra Mandheling now runs directly into my bloodstream with a simple thumb-stroke of the nurses keypad.

Deadpan lately with an almost completely vacant facial expression
coupled with hints of John Malkovich nervous ticks.

I've got black bags beneath my eyes to complete the look
(Like Maximillian Cohen meets Faces of Meth) and confirm without a doubt that the crushed and macerated coffee berries of which the goat partook serve as my only thread to the
sensation of physical and existential subsistence.

(And you thought I was kidding about run-on sentences right?)

Caffeine tremors and day-off-dom led me out to New Paltz, New York to attend The Mudd Poets Reading Series of which William Seaton and Ken Van Rensselaer were featured.

Bill read for about twenty minutes reciting his German-to-English translations of several Dada poets before closing with some original work.

Ken read some really fascinating material dealing with the cosmos and our relationship to the idea of void, sadly he wasted no time disappearing into the brisk autumnal nighttide after having performed.

Several talented regulars read at the open microphone;
Terrence "The Man of Many Voices" Ciesa dramatized a set of prose
as the Irish blue-collared "Tommy Burns"

while

Billy Hermin recited his punchy often humorous and explicit confessional texts sotto voce
from a brown sketch pad.

Sharon Butler premiered a work-in-progress and the host/czar of poetry Mr. Robert Milby
read some fine verse concerning Edgar Poe and autumn.

In between frantically chewing coffee-beans dipped in dark chocolate
and chugging the Mudd Puddle's delicious "Dancing Goat" blend
I read Othello Calicio (a piece from my last book Bodies/Galimatias)
as well as debuted Umbilicusissimus from Mnemosynesiac with fits of frontal lobe-ish improv.

The night was pleasant as bards,
poets and the like dispersed into the darkness and the comfort of their heated auto-cars.

We ended up in a quaint little Greek
diner in Poughkeepsie to enjoy a long-delayed meal of rare hamburger and sweet potato fries.

I am remembering as I pull the artifacts from the sand of what it was once like
to be a regular on the scene…


Parting sentiments and shameless butt-pluggery:

After a pseudo-review like that someone on the scene would likely carbomb me if I didn't include this information in the closing.

For folks interested in performing poetry, prose etcetera, listening and attending check out

http://www.poetz.com
for a comprehensive assemblage of poetry reading calendars
spanning from NYC to Vermont to New Mexico and beyond.

And for Christ’s sake make a cup of coffee!
You’re making me look bad.