[DesertCity] Lee Ann Brown & Carl Martin, Saturday, April 30, 8pm @ Internationalist

Ken Rumble rumblek at bellsouth.net
Thu Apr 28 11:00:43 EDT 2005

Who:  Lee Ann Brown, author of _Polyverse_ 
and _The Sleep that Changed Everything_, 
babbitter for the IFGO, can juggle hogs while 
reciting verses from "Childe Roland to the 
Dark Tower Came" in Polish.

Who:  Carl Martin, author of _Genii Over 
Salzberg_ and _Go Your Stations, Girl_, 
haberdasher for Jay Leno, person behind the 
decision to make grass green.

What:  Desert City Poetry Series, LAST 
Reading of the Season: In with a BANG, out 
with a Ka-BOOM!!

When:  This Saturday, April 30th, 8pm, 2005, 
putting the period on Poetry Month.

Where:  Internationalist Books, 405 W. 
Franklin Street, Chapel Hill, to the right of 
the sun and under the stars.

Why: "The world's agog with use / like a 
saint's patrimony" "Convert play's 
determining eye-- / to sight -- jolt my light 

See you there....

*Internationalist Books:

*Desert City Poetry Series:

*Lee Ann Brown:

*Carl Martin:

Contact the DCPS:  Ken Rumble, director
rumblek at bellsouth dot net

"Quantum Sonnet"
by Lee Ann Brown

The particle waves -- in your firmament -- comb
A golden mane -- thereof -- a graph --

Cruel behavior's handiwork -- undone --
All phenomenon O Lord -- can laugh

At the bright apparatus -- of redeemers -- come
To circuit round sharp amplitude --

Jumpstarted -- wavelength -- honeycomb
My commandment -- to your frequency's mood

Thy experiment is way past way --
Outer space -- Meditation's intensities

Convert play's determining eye --
To sight -- jolt my light propensities --

To click my arms around your glory --
Converting gentler light -- to photon's 
stranger story

" The Prescription Drug Challenge"
by Carl Martin

It was while popping members of the "triptan" 
That I began dreaming of the South African 
killer bee.
Trapped inside a diamond shaped molecule its 
sticky, yellow venom
Slides inside its slick confinement like wind 
Through the furry cuffs of the pussy willow.
This bee is a good swimmer, but not a great 
Though its talent has been honed bouncing 
through the waves
The spray and loneliness of the South Coast.
I know deep in the knobby, long distance 
knees of the soul
That it has not spread all the pollen that I 
would like to spread with it.
Somehow, in my wise inclinations I fear that 
this is a truly American
"Stinger," a short spanned hum-vee of the 
wild Florida grasses
Plowing through the airs and porches like a 
long-legged advert
In ways that Maeterlinck could never have 
Not even poetically, "just as Deborah, whose 
name means Bee"
Judged Israel--in a story I may not actually 
have read.
This is the way the blind see, even in Miami. 
Jehovah forgive us
And excise from the brain: the flesh, the 
hubbub, and the rub
For sometimes through the digital 
transference that is all we see
Though the light is blinding.
And the contest never as numbing as we would 

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