evening tidbit

kidnapped into:
reading Pablo Neruda out loud
sitting in a gold Mercedes
and smoking out the window
into midnight

NIGHT Radio show piece in Catskill (live)


A preview configuration of “Night” is at about the 1:00 mark….
Damian Catera’s improvised “sound-farmed” night sounds (gathered in Jersey City, from the web and from the Upper Peninsula of Michigan) and my spoken words. A peek into the larger piece that will be forthcoming soon…:)

NIGHT window….

night window stories

the smoke curls out
the lamp across the street lights up
in a soft orange pop
above the lamb
the window speaks folk walk rock: a tick tock parade
lining up for Mr. Softee
a drunken sad man is ranting-mad face to the sky
fat arms flinging wide
hugging tonight’s storm
“I am Arthur Montegno Matoya!
I am the Real Deal!
I want to kill somebody!
I am the Real Deal!
I am Somebody!”
loop after loop like the night
he is soaking in rain alone on the corner
then shambling away
a small mental pebble of prayer thrown after him
I understand something suddenly
You are all Somebody and Nobody out my window
And at night we are all the Real Deal


Night Piece Pt.2 excerpt (dusk approacheth)

TK: Sometimes (high pitched)
GE: High above it all
TK: Sometimes when I sliiiiiide (gliss down to normal voice)
GE: floated a threnody,
TK: Slide into my bed
GE: to which the bats, now out in full force,
TK: When I pour in like milk
GE: drew their sharply bent lines
TK: In petals
GE: across the darkening sky.
TK: And lay down my knotted face
upon that bittersweet lace
hug my twisted beams of hands
within the sheets
against my sides
I tingle
I burn and delicious tingle
Because I’m feeling like a child
and it lasts a full minute sometimes
and it is fucking heaven
I hope that dying
is like the way your bare legs feel
when they yawn
and stretch
and slip like fish
into the sheets

P. 1 Night Piece

and that night will embroider the waters of my soul
with its gossamer whatnots
and redemptive promise
in great godlike loops
and my heart will at last untangle
and my mind will unfurl like a flag of soft lightening
the flame will lower
the storm will cease
the dreaming will start
the infinite morning will begin at last


winter bushes

My dreams reflected back in melting snow-pasted streets
Spiny wheat fields
The occasional tree with its head full of red hair
Cherry pickpocketing all that white
Winter follows there
Into dreams