Desert City Poetry Series

[Ken Rumble <rumblek AT bellsouth.net>]

Please spread far and wide......

Who:  Brenda Coultas, author of _A Handmade Museum_, New York Foundation for the 
Arts Fellow, former carny and welder with Firestone Steel, can find hay in a 
needlestack without getting stuck.

Who:  Marcus Slease, native of Northern Ireland, mind behind the Nevermind the 
Beasts weblog, Greensboro resident, collector of Jesus figurines that have been 
chewed upon by animals.

What: Inaugural reading of the Fourth season of the Desert City Poetry Series: 
Can't stop us now, baby.

When:  This Saturday, September 17th, 8pm, 2005.

Where:  Internationalist Books, 405 W. Franklin Street, Chapel Hill, NC, under 
the sun--between the breezes.

How much: $2 donation requested to support the readers & series.

Why:  "Good weather in the Texas Fried Chicken restaurant across from the jobs 
and the works.  Good, clean mirror in the bathroom, a light mist rose from the 
mashed potatoes, a little precipitation of Coca-Cola overhead" "Can you blame 
your bad memory on butter and bacon?"

See you there......

Upcoming readings all at Internationalist Books:

October 8th, 8pm:  Brent Cunningham & Tessa Joseph

October 22nd, 8pm:  John Taggart & Randall Williams

November 12th, 8pm:  Sarah Manguso & Julian Semilian

*Internationalist Books:
http://www.internationalistbooks.org

*Desert City Poetry Series:
http://desertcity.blogspot.com

*Brenda Coultas:
http://www.thebrooklynrail.org/poetry/march05/coultas.html

*Marcus Slease:
http://marcusslease.blogspot.com

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

The Desert City is supported by grants from the Mary Duke Biddle Foundation, the 
North Carolina Arts Council, and the Orange County Arts Commission.

"Bum Stash: Early 21st Century"
by Brenda Coultas

The lot had been emptied by the police/city who put up a new fence and padlock 
and took down the trees and crops, and replaced soil with gravel. This year some 
crops pushed up again. Objects returned, this time under plastic, a long low 
stick of furniture with nine drawers, one missing, a yellow mustard color. 
Someone built a lean-to of mattresses, not steady and positioned a hubcap to 
shelter a plant from sun. Someone collected the brass number 5, strung it on a 
wire, and someone added a brown chipped water pitcher.

Later observed in secret, a man with magenta hair adding objects he found on the 
street. I saw him sitting on a broken rowing machine and then on a broken 
stationary bike; the exercise equipment rested on the gravel. When he left he 
locked the gate with his own working lock.

Bum stash tore apart. Lean-to pushed over, same objects but did the police or 
the magenta man tear it all down? (May 15 , 01)

Lot cleared and new gravel laid down, an orange shopping cart chained to fence. 
( May 25, 01).

Orange shopping cart unchained and rolled to street corner, miniature boxed pie 
and particle board inside basket. (2nd & 1st, June 10,01).

Two white 70s appliances/ On one corner, washer with an oval window in the door, 
laundry inside w/ brown mold/ on the other corner, dryer./ No one can write much 
nowadays because it takes money/ in the 70s people wrote all the time, now/ we 
don't have room to lay it all out, so lay parts at a time, pick them up and then 
lay some more/ I iron and bake that way and try to think of things to do for 
money/ crochet and knit/ sell blood and hair/ pick garbage for copper and 
aluminum. When my husband left, I thought I could start to lay it out, move it 
around, until an alchemy took hold. /So I laid it all out: 2 super 8s, a 35 mm, 
found photos, books of the Bowery, poetry, and there was lots of poetry. / 
Artifacts, flattened bottle caps, rusted cans, early tin cans, many interesting 
screws and bolts, sometimes found machines in enamel green, and sometimes, 
bobbins and thread. / I laid it all out/ stared at it/ moved it/ talked to 
myself about it/ read it all again/ waited/ nothing happened. / I put it all 
back. (July 27, 01, 75 E. 2nd St.)

from RESIDENT ALIEN
by Marcus Slease

walking energy         gaps
clean and cool
satisfaction envelops the sage
and nostalgia bags
the body

birds eat seeds
sweepers shovel waste

who doesn't have
a closet
full of
clothes w/nothing
to wear?

old sap
Oak Street a fine
old house of
colossal mysteries
besides yr
so heavenly droll
I hang
upon yr lips

lax and foolbound
healthy and wholesome
and buxy and brave

I don't fuck
nouns

I used to be
very funny
but now I'm
very beautiful