"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..."
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."
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
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. __________________________________
OR BOMB I RAN OR BOMB I RAN WITH THE BOMB OR I RAN WITH THE BOMB BOMB I RAN OR WITH THE BOMB I RAN OR WITH THE BOMB I RAN WITH OR BOMB I RAN WITH THE
miss thing dampered as illusion my kisses on your corpse my little one mundane you you in my night the worst part because I did'nt say that I am best when the needle does the talking shot up a 20 sack of minutes and came in my pants that's two more years inside you think I still walk talk I spin the broken globes
The woman thought it was a neighbor and opened the door.
Not moral; not colored; hard ("not soft") she fingered both my nether or sections; a tooth with two fangs or points; every two years; hands as I watched the top of my circulation ("not published"); a pain-reliever ("not pain"); her saliva and the velvety caresses of parts; having two folding "doors", like an oyster staff with the delicious warmth of ("not knowing"); eternal ("not withering"); softly against the veined flesh as together with another, and a colloquy is the conversation from the woman's mouth with a pop, falling opposed to obedience to the moral law. Antipathy is feeling while keeping her grip on the oozing ease germs, non-putrefying ("not rot"); without sex at once on the slippery organ and to humble pride, or to write from dictation; to mistake; to the tender skin of my balls while "possessing a common axis together". Cognate, related, below. I stuck a finger up her rectum, without impregnation ("not married"); doubtful and continued to suck me off; two-tongued (speaking two languages); the use of two contracted around my digits. In return, mimic or to leave; to undertake, or to assume violent grief; she began to use her tongue, suffocation ("not pulse"); having a defect between my widespread legs, taking my blood; making insensible of pain ("not perceive"); absence protested as a drop of white cum from a government ("not remember"); bloodlessness of guiding it past her smooth soft lips against poison. g g g g g g g g g g g g g g g g g g g g
america eat my shit I am one of your poets this would be funny except in the world of the ha ha afterwork crotch suck you need to thank me I validate you I am here cocksuckers and I'm pissed off fuck Chas. Bukowski and fuck you between your stinking lips you visual concrete assholes who think you're doing the world a favor you are too special to put out the flames fuck you jerks in college academically speaking I'd rather get drunk with a rock but yeah you thinking me the fool writing me off what you looking at this is only a poem how it's written when the time is right
sweet sweet Kenton lost at LAX needle in arm truck running my brother I remember you on reds fucking pissed you fucked up your sister my girlfriend so so like all those days at 58th and Slauson I told you fucking leave her alone but that was youth man I LOVED YOUR SISTER you fucking prick you knew that so fuck it all that violence is better than sex so so sex is violence but with brothers that is weird shit man the stories I could tell on you how you ripped off that Chinese joint in Redondo Beach you on the phone "you fuckers hungry?" we ate and the pills somehow making it fuck we made it FUCK YOU SQUARES this was a man remember pulled over by the helicopter wait here for a unit bright light artificial light named after Stan Kenton what's the chance that nigger shot you in the back over dope a .22 and deep there in your spine they didn't want to remove it so you go to Stanley's one hill over from the Spahn Ranch catch a rattler and back in Inglewood throw it in that nigger's car after cutting off the rattle sirens in that science fiction morning hey fucks you relatives you who live on ___________ wanna talk shit fuck you bright white motherfucker offed your punk black assed fool but that's history we live we die and death not ends it sentences are there to be read for Kenton all these years later
oblique and concerened like Art Blakey once told me take a high herbal enema relax man but of course untrained eye lazy eye wandering eye "what is there to see" back in Los Angeles the concrete spoke it's no time to quit as smoky riot skys broke up the prayers of the boy scouts of american phone booth BONG those coins were special then as the squeaky pussy of eyes closed the slight none event of you're gonna make it make what? I fucked that one up cuz here I am tv on wine in glass like Jack Micheline once told my grandma there ain't no wheel of fortune like ever sat at a bar in Los Angeles all dark and safe just digging the drinks thinking up the words and some asshole comes up and asks is this stool taken you gonna use that word hey hey man listen you heard this one? that's life always drawn and then bothered I stood in the shadows consuming the energy of them or us blistering disregard of the disregard of the blisters hey fuck listen listen man heard this one ? I'll steal your points motherfucker that's what I thought you know the game I'm not like you lover she said god damn little sister like Jim Carroll once told me how'd you get in the back here I can still see those brown thighs swoop on the juke
suppose your life meant nothing to your fellow citizens the bloated and morbidly obese as you wait behind them as the flames of time consume what is left of your face you will get your pain relievers you will get your meds sniffing the flowers while medicated and alone but there is a price you must continually watch the images of those dressed appropriately jumping out of the windows you could never have even cleaned if you wanted to what is there to see what is there to say always looking through the glass of imagination walking boulevards of the poems of undistinguished pleasure I don't care about your family you don't care about mine and I will hardly remember you