4/28/08

That night, remembering took conscious effort.
The meandering, unfulfilled drive home was gentle on my stomach.
I was relieved, and focused on each new headlight as it passed,
conceiving of each's story.
Ours sat between us, straddling the gearstick,
but was quiet and respectful,
listening perhaps to the static of the air
rushing by outside.
Her face was draped with apathy;
she did not look at me.
Instead, our sparse conversation was held sidelong,
formed in swirling, confused minds,
and cast with embarrassment from the corners of dried mouths.

4/26/08

Most of the wobbly, wooden folding chairs were empty.
I picked a conservative-looking seat, three rows from the front, and sat.
The cove behind the bookshop trapped the sunlight
like an inhabitable prism,
and the evening hadn't yet acquired its defiant chill.
The show hadn't started.
No sooner had I begun to enjoy my silent, singular anticipation of the poetry
than she strode in,
coyly, and took a seat three to my right.
I must have been staring dumbly,
as though I'd never met an attractive woman,
because the angled brunette with whom she had arrived
ventured a consolatory, "Hello."
"Hi," I scrambled to respond,
and, more politely, redirected my unsettled staring to the empty podium.
The show still hadn't started.

4/18/08

Unfortunately, glassEyeballs has recently been experiencing some technical problems that force me to, for the time being, take it offline. I think it's about time for a redesign, anyway.

That being said, I've never been one to leave the adoring masses without. Here are some links to tide you over:

• More about my newest solo album, As Knowledge Kills Beauty.
• Get As Knowledge Kills Beauty from Amie Street.
• Download the As Knowledge Kills Beauty Sampler.
• Download the Unarmed Truth EP.