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.
__________________________________




10/29/08

MARGIN OF ERROR

the mismeasure
of man in

weak-kneed
sentences

and to be
called poems

10/27/08

Forgetting Incandescence

it's as black as the white
side of midnight if you
believe her story of the blood
seconds inside the no reply
broke down and trembling
in the Valley of Fire with
no services for the next well
I mean who counts the miles
when you're out of luck waking
up with lips pressed against
the disrupted upholstery that's
crumbling like Coleman lantern
mantles to the touch of
your one last match

10/24/08

The Light They Waste

this week I got the
phone call from two
old brothers one
calling from a Tijuana
hospital where he just
had triple bypass
surgery to save a
hundred thousand
dollars because the
weed business is not
covered by Medicare
and my other soul
partner in Spokane
who got five stents and
was feeling fine except for
the fact that his fucked
up liver will kill him
before his heart does so
he's still drinking the
wine and writing the shit
but what more could
you expect when you're
the last of your kind
living amongst the
incompetent others
in the light they waste

SHINTO MUSS

you just
asked
an oddly
shaped
rock for
an order
of fries
with that

10/20/08

Out Of The Dish

a week ago in Portland
I performed with
the Be Blank Consort
these sound poems that
everyone read off of
scripts and Bennett had
me do this one where
I barked like a dog for
about 5 minutes which
was indicated by all these
drawings of little bones
but as the rest of them
read the text it put it all
into perspective these
last 40 years of fucking
with the poems ended in
this one quick yap

10/19/08

TO DETERMINE GOD'S WILL:


DIE AND
ASK HIM
YOURSELF

DIE AND
YOURSELF
HIM ASK

DIE HIM
YOURSELF
AND ASK

ASK HIM
YOURSELF
AND DIE

HIM DIE
YOURSELF
AND ASK

DIE HIM
AND ASK
YOURSELF

AND DIE
YOURSELF
HIM ASK

ASK HIM
AND DIE
YOURSELF


DIE ASK
AND HIM
YOURSELF

DIE AND
ASK HIM
YOURSELF

10/18/08

Untitled

this colored guy walks into
a bar and tells the bartender
give me a drink you poet dink

now this really pisses the poet
off so he tells the dude look man
you trade places with me and
I'll show you how it feels

so the colored guy gets behind
the bar and the poet sits down
on the stool then shouts out
give me a jigger nigger

the brother slowly looks him
up and down and then says
we don't serve poets here

ROBO CALL

blow out the candles at the shrines of great men)

10/16/08

The Hard Letters

It's
how a
woman
must feel,
spread wide
and relaxed,
not having to
be in charge of
that best guess.