So, the cover needs to be re-centered, but it’s not looking bad. The second page, you make notice the # with a 0 next to it. All of the printings will be numbered like that, so you’ll know what printing you got. The binding isn’t going to be anything super fancy but some roundhead fasteners …
Post Type Archives: Poems
Untitled #471 (2014)
So, let’s talk about a cool opportunity, for me, and for you. If you didn’t know, I have a collection of poetry called Let’s Get Drunk and Yell This Out. An excerpt of Erika Price’s review: Sometimes, Stephen’s poems are song-like, with repeating lines like desperate incantations; sometimes they are conversational and flush with detail, …
Untitled #467 (2014)
If you taste like Pepperoni,Or even just MarinaraI want to taste you.All over,Right now.Gimmie. -For mickeymichal
Untitled #466 (2014)
Intimates
Untitled #465 (2014)
There you are, kid,find you covered in dirt–barely call this a kick-up-dust-up.You’ve gone ‘n got all introspective on me,Jesus,your son is dead ‘n never buried. Kid, you need to let that go.We ain’t had anything like a compassionate relationship,but even I ain’t happy watchin’ this. Got ya some wiskey ‘n some youtube,if the McDonalds here …
Untitled #464 (2014)
Do you remember our wood-wind-breath swelling,the heart-beat-drum-beat staccato in our throats,in the moments after you ‘n I heard our first–our best collaboration. You never heard that lone cello sob, not once, not twice,when I ripped that still-born-verse from you. ‘n I still hum your January song,still taste your breath in winter,when the chill dries out …
Untitled #463 (2014)
“There is no poetry in your hate,there is no beauty in your incoherent yells.” I don’t, I don’t yell at you.It’s no wonder it’s nothing but hoarse-break-noise,what with your neo-verse-verisimilitude– echo “free love, free, free love”,I am sore ‘n tired ‘n well, well, past dead. but you mistake me.I shout ‘n stamp ‘n stutter because …
Untitled #461 (2014)
“This isn’t a poem.This isn’t a poem.This isn’t a poem.” Shakespeare always wrote his trouble in threes.
Untitled #460 (2014)
The etymology of me,includes nothing of you. write your gnarled-groaning tree poems, ‘n your patchwork-snatched spirituality, you magpie of metaphors. The breadth between my words, ‘n yoursis the distance between a printer, …
Untitled #46 (2015)
erikadprice replied to your post:You could have loved me better? Hell I could’a… those first two lines! Those were actually the part of the poem that stuck in my head, another version of this exists: You could have loved me better?Hell, I could’a loved me better. I could’a kissed him in summer afternoons, …
