"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. __________________________________
BIG BLACK CAR spreading her lies spreading her legs
a drawing of your hand is not your hand but it will satisfy law enforcement when bitch slapping yourself not realizing Soupy Sales died long after Richard Brautigan dipped his radar gun into a glass of orange juice there in North Beach around the time you shoplifted that copy of Book Of Dreams just to impress the one and only girl who ever had a bigger dick than yours
playing along with the shadows more human than you want to be nothing to drink so there is an abacus of pills not really quite the same thing but it will tally the right score if you count those odd dreams a prerequisite for ever waking up
bad poetry always reminds me of bad stand up comedy especially at readings where it's so fucking serious but still pretty funny to watch the audience sit on the edge of depression listening to that monotone crap praying for the punch line never realizing they are going to need all those precious minutes the last hours before death
you may die a week after you read this exactly the point of not giving a fuck lose someone find yourself only for a moment then it's the blood clot wine the porcelain white pinfeathering up off the plate into a dodo's flight past where another pair of lips already mouth your name