Library Girl Presents: Please Learn To Call Me In Your Dreams

Library Girl Presents: Please Learn To Call Me In Your Dreams

When
Sunday, January 8, 2012

Time
7:00pm until 9:00pm

Where
Ruskin Group Theatre Co 
3000 Airport Ave, Santa Monica, CA 90405-6139

First Library Girl show of the year! 
Featuring - Iris Berry, Laurel Ann Bogen, Peggy Dobreer, Mike ThePoet Sonksen, Dani Roter and special guest, A. Razor. Music by Mason Summit. Produced by Susan Hayden. First Come/First Serve. $8.

https://www.facebook.com/events/203465546404813/

Waiting in Oakland Intrn’l while reading Tony S. The Kid In America

Waiting in Oakland Intrn’l while reading Tony Scibella The Kid In America

 waiting for a flight in Oakland airport, looking out on baywater as it flows around runways & future prospects of flight trying to get to L A today to read a few words off the page in Venice in the place Beyond in the place Baroque in the canal town the carnale town the lil’ place in my heart the big ace up my sleeve where I learned the difference between dead & killed & killer where art meant no job blues but blue art painted bigger pictures for me like an ocean that is never quite blue, mo’ green like the money that gets chased around & around I nvr cld stop it, did not like be in poor so scratch & sniff & shoot my way thru to a freeway offramp nearer to u so I could find the glue that might keep the world 2gether long enough to be a sep rate truth thatno one could steal away in the night w/ gov’t permission like paperwork that meant doom that chased me into sleepless thoughts so far away from it all…from rooms &hopes &pens &words into torn muscled  terror of bikini fatefulness always w/ passion &more passion like last night but sometimes a long time in between like legs & promises & a brochure that sold something so long ago I forgot who I was writing to bcuz they died so many dead so many dying the last sacred death unknown to me so many already buried already burntup already ashes scattered poems all that is left standing cept fer kids & kids make the world go round so I did this fer the kids, (once they mistakenly call’d me a kid too, so take it like a grownup, you lil’ punks) don’t tell em nothing tho, let em figure it out, they all got that light inside like I did burning out all the way to brightness in the darkest moments we did not come to bury ceasar we all came on the salad tossed up greener than the waves off Venice on a winter day of stormy tides & santa ana winds blowing chapped lipped dirty blond girls from Midwest retreats onto casual boardwalk strolls under seagulls that shat out last nights foraged poems onto the heads of incendiary tourists turning beet red burned out cheek boned masters of destiny reaping the whirlwinds of falling markets all around a world mall that might as well go back to the stone age for all I care as long as you solar power battery charge the vibrators that the muse uses to get her clit just right & give the goods all night & we smile together as we hear the sounds of music everwhere (evreewear)…everywhere…everywhere a dance is underway a foot is about to tap & move & maybe even spin in a way it has never spun before…if you go go go fast enuff you might make it…you just might make it tonight…if you go now…what the hell you waitn’ for, kid? get the hell outta here quick…before the Spanish mausoleum sountrack gets you in its everlovin’ grasp like the ball’d up fists of angry angels wit’ dirty aces, all blackn’d out like bums on bitch’s, ex-ex’sfor eyes like bipolar bears turn’d to cannibals before the summer melt cums early to the polar heart that never mattered until it raised your ocean level and called you, it wants to see what you got…nobody’s bluffing in choir’s poker with cheap suit's unenjoyment check cashing boutique pride pumping out of every house speaker tht sez the same thing twice (remember, these are the same folks what tried to sell you a death ray to kill commie missles, but now those missles are coming froma different place and deathrays don’t sell like they used to)…not when there are perfectly good returnees returning on their knees to knit a conundrum of perplexities that never meant shit to a Sodom and Gomorrah historian like yourself as the rabid atheists spit in the god eye of doom and dare death to cross the line fantastic…death winces at the unmiracle of it all and waxes back to when vinyl was where hits were kept and brink’s were trucks full of money, not the place we left the world accidentally on purpose, and tony, o tony can’t you come back to the five and dime dope spot where the broken dealer an' hustled prankster gave the last dime that ever made a phone call before poems became cellular fertilizer that killed the next crop before the muse could be reawakened cuz she just rolled over and said “I heard enuff bitchin’ to last an eternity, which is all the time I have left”…I quit my complainin’ a while ago as the plane begins to board like a big bus ride into the sky and I am hoping that the security technician groped me on purpose, at least…just need one last injustice to keep it all blind…there is not a hand I been dealt I haven’t had to bluff on…even when I pocket flush the royal canard right out the old whoosecow…

A. Razor | The Nervous Breakdown

A. Razor | The Nervous Breakdown

Beyond Baroque, The Center For LA’s Poetry Scene | NewsTaco

Beyond Baroque, The Center For LA’s Poetry Scene | NewsTaco

A Good Signal Man Will Get You Through An Uncertain Pass

A Good Signal Man Will Get You Through An Uncertain Pass
for Mike Taylor

engines belching hard to make the grade in the pitch black night

wheels heating up white hot & throwing sparks out in bursts

the engineer is all throttle & faith in tons of iron & steel

as the timetables & schedules don't reckon on soulfire

churning across the greatest of divides & racing

breakneck across the prairies with howling

winds & coyotes as their main acclaim

to just get the job done & make it

home again,

as long as you can find a home in the heartland

where a home fire burns for you away from lonesome...

away from the back porch blues of lost goodbyes & hastily

closing back doors into an oblivion avenue where you are young again

just a boy becoming a man that goes off to war, out of country, in country

blazing a trail of shooting stars that fall into the sea as you stroll along

with comrades in arms & letters & words & song & wine & women & love

always the love, the woman that leaves her calling card just out of reach

just as long as you write her down into verse after verse of the momentary

lost bucket of redeemers-come-lately that want to dare to dream of that

beach back then so long ago under the venetian heavens, o praise venus

her temple erected in a borealis of non-compliant metaphors above a

simple temple of man fashioned out of driftwood yet revered as a palace

of extravagant creations hewn into figurines of tempest & temptation

kept like a sacred heart preserved for every fallen memory that graced

the brass placard covered remnants of a playground pier that was just too

precious not be the devotional point of reference for your star as it lights down

on an engineers hand through a locomotive window as he pushes up the throttle

to make it up the grade on the spade black night that is haunted by the helping

hand of the most helpful & humble of all the spirits of signalman ever passed

this way & the wheels heat up white hot & throwing sparks out in bursts

& the locomotive is gonna make it tonight, guided by your signal light

guided by the falling of it on the earth tonight, in wreckless beams

guided into the carried away songs sung by the foxhole atheists

of the road ahead, so long and wide, that will be so much more

lonesome now that the signalman is going off

to leave signals from so faraway of a place as this

faraway land of afterlife in the memory of children

who discover words left hidden in closets of eternity

reams of words speaking of life in the template of the living of it all

by this signal left behind the children will seek these words

a single flag left to follow along the ribbons of glistening rails

to get to him the throttle must be kept full & steady

the song must be sung as if the words were iron & steel

all the tons of it needed just to carry you along, a little further down this line

for Mike Taylor

For A Modern Leadership

For A Modern Leadership

the kingdom within has fallen from royal ascendancy

into the weathered walls of obscurity

leaving behind empty shells

with no crown that is fitting

leaving behind the legacy

of torment

of mistrust

of perpetual

war

for the sake

of war

all the time

war

     as

the only purpose

seems to be avoiding

peace

at all costs

     as

these costs

have risen now

higher than any prophecy

that could have ever been foretold

in any lost integrity that still might fly above the fray

nothing more than a winged accountant of record

memorizing every last prayer of the collateral dead

as the words ooze across their cracked and forsaken lips

prayers forgotten as soon as they are never answered

Lost In The Formula

Lost In The Formula: Rumi is in dreams as Naima is in reality?


tumbling out of cloud-like embrace of linen heavens
spilling onto hardwood floors like lost collections of dust
as the sound of nearby waves crush color wheels of sound
into circular visions of love holding love
(“this is all about love” said the broken heart mending)


hiking into the wilderness barefoot over rocks and thorns
the bewildered lover never touches the ground with feet
love walks on love walks on love like one foot
after another on a softening footpath  
    love              love             love           love
             love               love            love
looking into each others hearts to see a light is shining
looking into a drop of water to see the ocean as whole
waves of bewilderment breaking overhead
amazed at all the amazing amazement
cloaks of bright lights are discarded
falling like cloudy waterfalls away as
eyes send arrows into each other
sifting out all the bullshit thoughts of
trust this trust that what is meant by you? by yours?
you standing there to give to receive to want to hold
cascade away the sickness into the melting of candles
set out in the windows of souls to guide the way home
guide the way love   guide the way lonely   guide the way back
all are welcome to come into this light   to build this light
soul by soul each one like a separate cell    each one
a piece of it all like a honeycomb of soul    of love
of serendipity in mindfulness    in love
as heads roll over heels heal over heartbreaks
new shoes blues requires you wear no more shoes
barefoot is the price of admission in this wilderness
searching for the life of it in wild grasses lining marshy estuary
running into lagoon full of heron and egret lurking into tadpole pools
looking for no more rules of thought as the feet go off path into brush
finding pumpkin spider hugs and dragonfly kisses abounding all around
lizards rolling under logs into burrows away from predator   not to be prey
kissing starfish kissing urchin running past the first set of dunes whipped high
covered with scrubs and weeds and seagull seeds spitting sandy licks
at coughing lost tongues turned into tonsils too deep for feeling free


she turns away, only to come back when she wants to play with
a playful playfulness that trumps serious in the early morning
every time


all this aging is changed to childhood in a kiss with a laugh and a smile
we walk this garden like moonbeams floating above moss
cool to the hotness of our skin burning into black milkiness
losing all colors to contrast like cinematic pasts uncovered
turning into the mist of vaporized mercury aloft in the lost
nakedness of unguarded moonlit trails into your heart


this is still about love as it is about to be lost on a lake of iron and ice
the winter takes on form as love begs to get one last chance
to transcend the transcendence into the beginning again
the chill of the wind is the world’s heartless answer
but, love can lose all limbs and form to become
light as the wind with no sense of weather
this is what love wants when it is true
this is love when it is most honest


running headlong into the autumnal ocean like this
all beauty is all beauty is what is most beautiful
all about you right now

like robes of light hugging you
pushing the hair out of your face
the wind is playful with both of us
the heart is silent against the waves
as they crash and crash aloud
reciting the fate of all love
along this shoreline
unprotected
yet,
saved
for now
nonetheless

Medicinal

Medicinal

she dances in twist & turn

rounded moves into the curves

of arching wants

she moves with the rhythm of rainfall across glass

timpani on the windowpane accompanied by crackled logs

placed carefully in the hearth of sickly desires

she holds it together, the space you are a part of

eyes darting into soulflesh like lancing a thousand heartaches

pouring out all the bitterness of the left behind, the life alone

for the moment, the blend is into one

the pour is slow syrupy goodness

it might lie about tomorrow as it lies next  to love

only because it can't escape the moment

anymore than you can

with interlocking fingers

tangled up locks of hair

crisscrossed arms & legs

rocking back & forth

riding up & down

rolling round & round

writhing in & out

settling for nothing more than a cure

a medicinal allotment of precious joy

surging through the inner cosmos

doing all the lovely damage

on the inside

she takes up all she can bear

walks away from all the neglecting thoughts

takes her time in the other room

mingles with the other people

& you swear it was something that was taken away

from you before she came, now it has gone

as if she could leave with that which was never there

walking off into a distant music

to dance away from here

to dance away from you

& you say

let love lead me where it may

Typing Slowly w/ Just a Left Hand

Typing Slowly w/ Just a Left Hand

you ask yourself

sometimes

what's the use?

for so long

for o so long

there is

no answer

but the

emptiness

of it all

Duncan's Falcon In Flight

Duncan's Falcon In Flight

a shrouded falcon waits to fly with a disciplined anticipation

every muscle and tendon taught as suspension wires

that hold the golden gate aloft above the entrance to the bay

the falcon sees no perspective from its cloaked darkness

it plays out turns in the sky as it closes on the prey

to seek the acceptance of its master

trained for this in daily regimen

given praising rewards for its prowess

it gathers strength from each motion

it holds its head up, alert and waiting

for ultimate perspective to be revealed

birds of the sky flee in fear of its talons

sharpened black pointed differences

admonished for overzealous maneuvers

against the master's arm that holds it high

tethered to a master's hold on the falconer's rest

a beautiful bird of prey waiting to behold its own magnificence

turning circles and dives and aerial twists in its minds keen eye

free falling in dives as it moves and glides and soars after its mark

the sparrow the lark the pigeon the canary the crow the starling

all know that the falcon's shadow is a fearful sight on any day of flight

they may even have unsettled dreams of its menace as shivering chicks

set upon by the fatal talons in its last moment before jarring awake

stirring into the reality that the falcon that is trained to satiate

for the reward of pride and nourishment is the most deadly ending

to the simple traces of a birds life of worm and seed fed neutrality

the falcon soars above the admonishments of birds against it

the falcon relishes opportunity to prove itself in any manner

dressed in hood and tether it stretches its gilded shiny wings

as the hood is removed it preens in a new love before it sets

for a new attack with the heart beating in the chest so fast so heavy

this is the chance that it has been hatched from desire for so long ago

this eternal falcon that has always wanted to please its mother

that has always wanted to protect its lands from skies to low valleys

that has always sought to end the admonishment of father and siblings

wanting to rightfully fly its mission on sharpened turns of valiant wings

it flies forth out of darkness into light that it has never known until now

a light it has only seen in dreams of days it hoped for above green fields

spiraling through the skies for freedom to serve its holy master, love

How To Bury A Lost City In A Decade Right In Front Of You

How To Bury A Lost City In A Decade Right In Front Of You

bombs killed the anarchist fishmongers

who wanted to organize something

under the colonial paving stones

that were europa too young

to walk on their own legs

in immigrant clothes

naked in the cold

in a hundred years or more

undocumented workers would smoke blunts

in the bathroom for the top o the world

while the world traded possibilities

under the towering gaze of twin

free market standing sentinels

as if it was impervious to its own

limited liability denial

that looked down

on all the mobs

of impetuous

trump hopefuls

trolling in and out

of all the subway platforms

at the clay feet of a commercial high rising upward

so many ghosts hit the skids that day

running away from the zeroed out ground

as fast as the wind could blow them out

running through Chinatown and SoHo

all the way up to the alphabets of Loisaida

the old park is a walk from gershwin's stoop

up around the corner from the 2nd ave deli

past st. marks where corso slips a dollar in

pulls it out past the square for fair on the L

going back to brooklyn in the morning

     o gregorio     o gregorio 

o we see so clearly now, only too late

the bomb came for us as we were warned

by the cloak of poems that gave us cover

only for so long as those words could

everyone gazed upward

toward the morning sun

with national camera eyesight

as we all looked on in unexplainable surprise  

still life with an ash tray in a diner that no longer smokes

roll past graham through ghosts that have become hipster bubble gum flavor assortments giving away all potential to the dive that overcharges and artistically under performs, still, everyone is a critic when the world is less critical when the mass is less critical when it is less complicated when it is all just a puzzle with an easy piece missing in action so the chatter goes all night long in a clinky clank of cocktail glasses that must be avoided at all costs after the latest rent increase

     catch the car service to bushwick and metropolitan into the lost world of thievery gone co-op

make a get away to flatbush all the way up to church and breath deep the jerk sauce aroma

where dutch became dutchie in a reformed church cemetary blowing sound blowing minds blowing blowing blowing

make a get away to the coney island that is no longer a dream or a nightmare just the last refuge of goons, gumbahs and mermaids on the lost boardwalk running like a comet with a splintered tail where the ghosts of your first tattooed ladies ride horses off of diving boards into the pooled tear drops of elephant palace memories that once held cheers for bums dodging trolley cars out into far rockaway and back on a lonesome plane ride off into sunshine away from home plate sliding fantasy leagues where the dust of fallen towers never touches the empty graves of lost friends who didn't leave enough of a concern for anyone to stop a war for as they were too busy starting wars for someone else who had more friends and was better thought of than the bike messengers, panhandlers, undocumented workers that left no discernible DNA rubbed into molten metal skeleton structural remains of a lost day in time

missed flight on the 9th means nothing 2 days later or even 10 smoky years afterward

walking it off in a haze that has left many for dead who had no choice since then only

it was not the first time death took innocence for granted on the lay away plan it would

make the whole repertoire more chic than ever as texas finally cried for yankees like never

before seen footage of popular mechanics tragedy lessons learned stateside as if uncle sam

were an islamic bee keeper with guantanamo bee hive unleashing istani drone attacks all over

the god damn fields of inglorious vengeance against the internal apartheid of soulless decisions

that kiss hot ashen limbs all over battery park as the soot of a lost mosque goes undetected on

the wailing walls scored by roman swords and spears an unfashionable empire ago

these words were just a bloodletting for those that never saw it coming in so many places

in so many ways in so many times in so many lands

most people wanna be left alone unless you are gonna make them famous

no one wants to pay the price for fame as long as fame is paying the price

we make bombs as if it were potlatch for children to return it to our unborn

unconceived unadulterated generations yet to come

the blood all mixes in on the sidewalk but it can't be demarcated

from the scorched earth that buries ideals and convictions

in graves now trampled and left unmarked

Sitting Down for a Moment as Gary Snyder walks Away

Sitting Down for a Moment as Gary Snyder walks Away

so early becomes so late becomes so early again

like a spiral staircase of dreams and trials

each one dissolves into the next

no angels with trumpets

to herald us forward

no vacant being

of existence

leaving us

for dead

or

alone

here now

the wisest is

the young daughter

of the craftspeople's church

where the family beckons all

to come back into the fold of the town

located on the outskirts of the great city

that is part of a like-minded country of folks

who have all built something here together as one

where they say in all places blessed I may still find loneliness

there is no despair in it for me as I know you will always be waiting

to welcome me back into something akin to a home in the dusk lit by the last magic

beholding failing beams of translucent glory overwhelming all these considerations of

philosopher's words in the last moment of breath of heartquake of shiver of death of peace

...Fixer...

Fixer
(Photograph Chosen By Eden)   


she took pictures of me while we were in love
she took pictures of us while we were in love
pictures that she developed herself, in a lab
   off of telegraph ave. where she rented time
      & chemicals to do so
    she took pictures of me staring off into space
worried about final out comes & doom
was looming overhead in the shadows
     she took pictures of me drunken &
fighting with the neighbors in the street
knuckles all bloody with teeth all bared
      she took pictures of me attending public
demonstrations that I would turn into riots
that would turn into photographs of cops
    in riot gear guarding a fallen comrade
    she took pictures of me tying off &
injecting what I took to be sanity into
my waiting bloodsteam that recoiled
    from the pulsating madness of my torn up
      reality that dropped into frame like confetti
thrown into the universe from another world
      & another time when someone would take
photographs of me now as I look out a window
     wondering  what ever happened to all those
 old pictures of insanity & does it really matter
     now that I have someone shooting pics
of me while we are in love & doom is just
       a memory as she takes pictures of me
while she sits cross-legged & naked to let me
      know I am safer now than I ever was or
would be as long as she is holding the camera
     & all I have to do is look out the window
so I can remember to forget about all the photos
     that are lost in the past  that no longer matters
washed away in fixer & blood & tear drops
     flooding away a black & white world so long ago