BRETT PRICE IS OUT OF THE COUNTRY,

somewhere in South America I bet, and this is THE TROUBLE WITH MAPPING--his new chapbook, which you should buy immediately for a mere $8 from Flying Guillotine Press.  It's beautifully bound with individual handmade map cutouts/collages on each cover.  And the poems are DYNAMITE--which will surprise no one who knows Brett and his work. Here's a sample poem from the chap:

ARRIVAL OF THE NEW CITY


The sudden fixedness of a once
Portable future
I accumulate

The useful clutter often
The toughest

Goings to bed before
Tired and wearing out
The comfort of positions
To rest in

And now
To avenue

To expedition by way
Of stride

If in a hurry the way
Blood hurries
The body when yelled at

Pat Steir you a-hole
How does one become you
Terrible

I will never catch
That line and ride even if hurried
So cheer up

And read how
The new city quiets

The young AM blotting
The overcast with its rust

RADIO RADIO--THE JOE MILFORD POETRY SHOW

No, I'm sorry this post is not about Elvis Costello, but I am happy to use the word "radio" today. It's a word I don't use nearly enough--especially since listening to the radio--jazz mostly--is one of my favorite things.  Maybe it's one of your favorite things, too.  And if that happens to be the case, perhaps you'd like to tune in (via the internet) to The Joe Milford Poetry Show this Saturday, 11/15/08, at 5PM (Eastern time) when I'll be the guest on Joe's show.  While you're there you can also listen to the archived shows, including readings by C.D. Wright, Ron Silliman, Bob Hicok, and many others.

A special note: Dean Young will be Joe's guest this Tuesday, 11/18/08, and that show will begin at 6PM.  Regardless of whether or not you tune in to hear me, please tune in to hear Dean and check out Joe's site and his archives.

GRAPESHOT

It's like this: a thud comes
warning an excess of gusty weather,
and a brown dress-shoe warms
to an igloo of impatience. Impatience?
Impatiens! And thus, you consider it
to be the toothsome obliteration
of all things jawbreaker, all things
rounded up to account
for the very pomegranate nature of the future.
Your fortune teller's written failure
all over its dictums,
walking around in an elevator's circles--
and that's really saying something
so completely mechanical
or it's the last thing ever said
before the sky drops out
of the great dreaming lollipop,
the meadowlark lemondrop,
the secret code calling you
the lining of a stomach,
and risking next to everyone
as you crash into your parents.

TODAY IS THE DAY IS THE ELECTION!!!!

VOTE YOUR FACES OFF!

My face is a meat truck.

Honk!

I live in OHIO...

My mustache is a dog.

You should see him wag his amazing

land-locked surfboard.

Optimism bleeding

on my blogface.