"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. __________________________________
it's not going to be okay and that is alright too but just three weeks ago after a soul partner's funeral I'm taking another partner home all wasted and the cop asks if I've been drinking and I tell him yes yes indeed so he lets me go and follows me home with a can of beer between my legs just like the good old days in Calif. when the CHP were more like your older brother as they ground your reds into the pavement with a bootheel asking if the sets were glassy like I gave a fuck but they were good-looking blonde motherfuckers though not like these mad-dog faces we got now ready to shred your birthright with their perfect canine teeth and onboard computers like I really give a fuck about that either actually I am no better than anyone else from what I can remember
the need the want is not because I love you it's just that the sky is bleeding and there is no tampon big enough and what do you care you bitch I had that massive alcoholic seizure in Texas and almost bit off my tongue but was back drinking beer through a straw the very next day so why are you singing anyway there are no words to this song
We are strangers before thee, and sojourners. --1. Chron. xxix. 15.
seven sons of habituals with switches and axe in hand stand next to the horse-drawn high wheels that hold the huge log they just got done loading which soon will be moved to the nearest railhead and eventually traded to China or Hawaii or Australia as lumber to build each nation's dreams but when the shutter clicks its duration of exposure and this hot day smell and the dancing insects and light coming through the trees and that lens all move forward into our digital reckoning not one of them will ever know that what was dreamt is now killing us
late sixties on acid there past the outskirts of Aptos we hiked way on up across the downed redwoods with the water and ferns below and the banana slugs dayglo yellow like the sun that just today shone similar to what's now left of our teeth
try putting clip-on sunglasses on these night vision goggles because you saw where the sun don't shine 20 minutes before the apoplexy had you drooling over the fear of mortality and this puppet show of childhood wounds now being X-rayed for broody weapons became greater than that poorly acted fear of being caught
it's a hole the calibre of my child spinning with the velocity of their brown legs and arms and this annoying war that won't fit on the K-Mart Gift Card I got for giving up my citizenship to become a real Christian during that segment of Access Hollywood where they showed the celebrity death throes and the whole family just cried and cried and cried
dark amber bottles will flush out the dream on this hot nameless day with the weed covered refrigerator unplugged in the yard where a deer hangs like a revenant and scrawny blessed dogs sport porcupine quills outside a broken down truck full of garbage when I lick the red skin on her thighs
in my youth I caught the snake interrupted when the playmate dropped her pants and that one green nickel stuck to the memory you should know a little about like when it all bloomed mythic between the cheeks and those five brown pennies I got back for change waxed as hard as the diamonds in an intake worker's eyes