Writing is solitary. As it happens, there is no audience. It arrives. It is birthed, pushed, coughed, sneezed, puked out and then when (and if) one is ready, it is given away. Spoken off ledges, stages, bar stools and stoops.
I have a difficult making (and keeping) friends. I have a hard time remaining present and kind in relationships (this has dramatically changed). I don’t always know the proper way to exist.
I hate labels, though occasionally wear one to rip off and count the hairs pulled.
One label I do not mind inked into my battered wrist: poet.
On October 15th, I am so immensely pleased to celebrate some poems that were published in a book, meant to wake up feeling, pressed and ISBN’d by great great great weather for media.
I invite everyone to celebrate along with me at The Parkside Lounge located at 317 E. Houston St./NYC from 8-10pm. There will be books for sale!
I will be joined by Pancetta Bruschetta Rivera Herman III (the ukelele), the marvelously thought-provoking mixed-media superstar poet, Todd Anderson and the breathtakingly talented Staten Island band, Yeti.
For more info, go HERE: