THE FOLLOWING BOOKS
WERE PUBLISHED WITH
WORK OFF OF THIS BLOG!!!!



FOR MORE INFO ON HAPPY HOUR
AND HOW TO ORDER, CLICK HERE:

http://lokidesign.net/2356/2010/11/four-minutes-to-midnight-issue-eleven%E2%80%94happy-hour/

"To tell you the truth, I'm pretty burned out
on meat poetry or street poetry or poetry of
the down-and-out, whatever you want to call
it, because so much of it is bullshit; either bogus
motherfuckers who never shed blood but
insinuate themselves into the lives of those
who have and then make a name for themselves
by writing generic imitations, or a bunch of
middle-class kids still living at home talking
tough, aping Bukowski, Wantling, levy, Micheline...
but HAPPY HOUR is the real thing. Stark precision.
It's stripped down, bare bones authentic.
You be the real McCoy, amigo..."
-John Bennett


A new EBOOK!
FREE DOWNLOAD!
CLICK HERE FOR MORE INFO:
http://www.lulu.com/content/e-book/pesticide-drift/9128215


DRINKING & THINKING
FROM BLUE PRESS,
SANTA CRUZ, CA. 2010
"For a while, now, outside of
what you/ve been doing
outside Klamath Falls and what
Todd Moore was doing outside
Albuquerque, not much
integrity married to the inside
dope of the poetic imagination
as far as my jaded view
has been concerned."
-Michael C. Ford


SOMEONE WHO LOVED YOU
From 48th Street Press,
Philadelphia, PA. 2010
"SOMEONE WHO LOVED YOU
is simply a great piece of work."
-GERALD NICOSIA


TASTE THE
From If Year Books,
Brooklyn, N.Y. 2009
"A cool little scrabble of
fugitive pieces, some
handwritten, some paste-
ups, all laid in like a scrapbook
miscellany with mean teeth."
-Kevin Opstedal, Ukulele Feedback


DON'T SAY A WORD
From Blue Press,
Santa Cruz, CA. 2008
"F. A. Nettelbeck isn't
fucking around."
-Patrick Dunagan,
galatea resurrects #9




Signed copies are $10 each,
plus $2 postage and handling...
checks payable to F. A. Nettelbeck,
POB 69, Beatty, OR 97621 U.S.A.
__________________________________




8/31/07

Imaginary Blackout With Claude Monet

for Bryan Mickle

to speak in light of light like the wine spilled on
the chromatic tracks of Stockon's suicidal
outskirts

or harmonicas of wind and your need to piss
out the boxcar door onto Merle
Haggard's half-masted shadow

what you always said 'bury your wine'
before hitting that main stem
never nothing about what brush

I should use on her face to restore the codeine
in her eyes that killed the pain for the
very first time

Claude we're getting old as we wait for
this next train of colors
ashamed of our own signatures

I had that dream again man the one I had
back in Philly were I stood there with
all those postcards in my arms

with all your paintings on them only I wasn't
staring at that heat shimmered highway
it was your gravestone that was shimmering

and for the very first time I felt lost like you
were'nt my road dawg no more like someone
captured you in a book

but then I read the inscription and it was all
right they got it fucking right so perfect
and I woke up feeling righteous brother



ONE THING ABOUT IT
I AIN'T GOT NO
WARRANTS
HERE