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.
__________________________________




6/13/08

FATHER'S DAY

here is to my two dead
children the ones these
women had aborted
because they figured
out fucking a poet who
ain't worth a fuck and
poor ain't like making
$80.00 a night in tips at
The Red Onion because
your artist ass is sublime
in a stupid scanty uniform
to these jerk-off suits or
that your ex-husband has
set you up because you
already have kids with him
so you can now write your
weak poems while fucking
half The Catalyst every
friday night but women
decide who lives and dies
anyway especially when
they have you pinned riding
that half a foot of destiny
yet I do remember one made
me pawn my saxophone
on the way to the clinic while
the other was wearing this
huge pad over her cunt when
I brought her home and she
had me fuck her in the ass still
hot and nasty through the
tears because a poet is king
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