Michael Simms: Heart of Glass
In Herzog’s great visual opera
The hero stands on a cliff
Above a valley where a river
Of molten glass carries
Light to the sea
Mel Packer: Angie’s Place
Where back in the corner, there’s always some guy in a Pirates ballcap with skin like an old leather shoe who’s nursing the cheapest beer on tap….
Richard Levine: Disturbing the Peace
“Do you want to know what war is about?”
Jake asked the talkative one.
“Don’t say it, Jake,” I said.
Michael Simms: American Ash (text and video)
Old warriors rarely
say anything about
people they killed or
horrors they saw
Sydney Lea: Hole
He says even in the joint they didn’t have no trouble
gettin product
and once when they couldn’t, why, a bunch of them
shot up whatever, fools
that they all was
Michael Simms: Why you might be interested in my new book
Donate $20 or more to your favorite progressive cause or candidate, and Red Cedar Distribution will send you a free copy of my new collection of poems American Ash.
David Huddle: Villanelle for Lady Day
Billie said, “If I’m going to sing like someone
else, then I don’t need to sing at all.” Let’s
just say I was white and knew how to conform.
Michael Simms: A True Story of How I Almost Became a Rock and Roll God (with special appearance by Iron Butterfly)
So there I was, jumping up and down on a king-sized bed in an expensive hotel in Miami Beach, drinking rum straight from the bottle. And right beside me, jumping up and down, playing the air-guitar and blasting out his famous song In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida, was Doug Ingle.
Michael Simms: The end of civilization as we know it
I want to apologize for walking in
When the dog was licking
Your bald head as you lay
On the couch drinking rum
Straight from the bottle…
Jason Baldinger: A Seventy-Four Dollar Shotgun
two men in camouflage
drunk loud talk, stare at shotguns
Jay Carson: Michael
On his route with a load of papers on his head,
he wasn’t tough enough to scare Michael
who socked him so hard papers flew
like peace doves all over Fifth Avenue.
Lynn Emanuel: Some Notes on Intoxication and Simile
If my mother had not been an alcoholic, I might not have been a poet.
