My chapbook [Mary]: is now available. I’ll be reading from [Mary]: alongside all kinds of mad poets I admire in Jan & Feb. & more announced soon….Unnamable Books – Boog City NYC & Phili Poets - Jan. 12 *** Sidewalk Cafe – Hyacinth Girl – Jan 29 *** The Delancy – Couplet Reading Series Valentine Edition! – Feb 16
There is a piece from [Mary]: up at Verse and several pieces in the new issue of Ping Pong and 1 up at Poetry International and right here on my own dumbass blog. Also pieces in the Boog City Anthology of NYC & Phili Poets.
Here is the prologue to [Mary]:
THE INVENTOR DREAMS OF A WOMAN
“The sky,” she said, “is a vast sexy nothing.
Makes you so tiny, you want to fuck.”
& the Inventor fed the woman berries but she debated
& they burst into purple on her lips & skin.
Now, the Inventor held the woman’s face
as though he were about to gulp
But he did not gulp—
& with his forefinger, tickled under her chin.
“What do you want?”
“I have no laughter,” said the woman—
Her hands were tied to a maple at the wrists.
The Inventor tickled again
& the woman felt the slow reluctant sap in her hair.
The Inventor wedged the woman’s
garment tight up her ass
purpled her neck
with the suction of his mouth
hung her higher
in the trees & tickled her feet
with a blade of grass.
“There is laughter in the grass,” said the Inventor.
“There is loss in the grass & enough
dead ants to fill a dump truck.”
His pinky ambled in her mouth— tickled her gums
& the back of her throat—Scrambled an egg inside her.
& the woman felt a deep discussion in her psoas, but still no laughter.
“The sky is a brat pissing & sneezing & running its nose on us.”
“There is laughter in the sky,” said the Inventor.
& the woman caught berries in her mouth & smiled like a seal.
Occasionally one would balance on her nose & bounce
down her blouse. Still no laughter.
“Close your eyes.”
& the woman closed her eyes & the Inventor
tickled her ribs until there was a laugh in the hip.
“Chicken feathers.” He whispered.
& the Inventor tickled behind the woman’s ears.
& the woman laughed until she was a woman.
When the woman opened her eyes—the Inventor was milk.
She disrobed in the yellow grass—Belly round
as a blueberry, pregnant with laughter. & life –
a gemmy animal, went lightward to its lit song.
[Mary]: is part of a collection I’ve been working on for years called The Inventor’s Last Breath, about an Inventor character loosely based on Thomas Edison and his wife Mary. This chapbook is comprised of Mary’s love poems and diary entries as well as poems that act as intimate telegraphic communications (Edison was deaf and often tapped in Morse code on Mary’s wrist, he also did substantial work on the telegraph and stock ticker) and poems that act as film snippets (Edison invented the motion picture camera). This installment of the Inventor’s Last Breath focuses on the domestic aspects of the Inventor– The Inventor through his wife’s eyes. I felt very close to Mary and Edison when I wrote this and will always remember my time with them. (Mary is also written for Mary Shelley).