Saturday, October 29, 2011

Chapbook Business

Your Friendly Neighborhood Christian JUST finished ordering the birthday cake for MANIFEST: Year One. Make sure to come get yourself a piece on November 11th at The Camp House (1427 Williams St.).

In other news, I’ve previously posted on here that my chapbook Ghosts & Echoes is now being sold at Winder Binder in Chattanooga. Ray Zimmerman, who is a very influential artist as well as a man I feel honored to call a friend, is going to be doing a book reading there on December 4th. Earlier this week, Ray reached out to me and asked if I’d be interested in participating, and I gladly accepted. So, you’re all invited to pop out and hang out on December 4th. I’ll throw some additional info about the reading up in the very near future. Stay tuned!

As for the book, I thought that it would be a good idea to post a few poems for you to check out from it. If you have any questions on other ways to obtain the chapbook, feel free to comment of e-me at

Miracle Worker
Mama Dear is up before
the day, filling this house
with the smell of breakfast.
Lean strips of bacon scream.
A cube of butter sinks into
the navel of grits. The roaches
have become shadows behind
doors, underneath the couch
& television, & like a spell,
the house is blooming with life.
My uncles gather around
the crowded ebony table,
their eyes bloodshot, dry-rose lips hungry
for the weight of the day’s first cigarette.
The black ink is shaking out the sky
& we can forget that money seldom
stays here. For now, we have this meal
to share & carry in the maroon chapels
of our stomachs, & Mama Dear
has woven her magic again.

Moonlight rests in the brunette
garland of your hair. Outside,
the first cool hours of morning
have arrived & your eyelids are moving
to meet one another & shut.
As I watch sleep summon you,
every damp organ inside me screams
for you to stay & dream beside me.
My clumsy mouth knows no incantations
to keep you in this bed. I know that soon
you will rise to traipse out into that black,
cloud-speckled haze alone, leaving the space
between these ivory-painted walls silent.
How hungry I am to trade my warmth
with you, to barter with you, to feed
comfort to your still body. How my heart’s song
wants to soften into a light massage,
a steady feather stroke against the muscles
in your back. Look at us – you are nestled
comfortably on the bulk of my pillows, drifting
on the hilly bodies of my blankets,
eyes hidden behind the beige curtains
of your flesh, & here I am awake,
carrying this want in the milk of my bones,
& with these weary, bloodshot, open eyes
I am dreaming of you.

The Sea
Even the silence
has tumbled out of this room
making its exodus underneath
the heavy ivory door.
It is just you & I on the cusp of sleep.
My hand against the beach
that is your stomach, brushing over warm skin.
For this moment your breath, your covered ribs,
your bone & body are partially mine.
I press my fingers against your abdomen.
The tide is rising behind these muscles.
The sea in you is singing my name,
each syllable aloft in melody.
My desire is a wildfire – untamed, enveloped
in its longing to drop anchor inside you
& holler back at the Heavens
that this is where I belong.

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