MOTR 2

As the cock goes
So goes the day

MOTR

Holy Sunday
Holy OTR
Holy Brunch

Watershed

You believe that the U.F.O's are coming any day now

Things That My Friends Say Reader Series #4

Time	Monday, February 28 · 8:00pm - 11:00pm
Location	CS13 1420 Main Street Cincinnati, OH
Created By	CS13
More Info	Featuring readers: Nick Barrows Jori Cotton Yvette Nepper Francis Pospisil CS13 presents the third installment of THE THINGS THAT MY FRIENDS SAY Reader Series featuring local writers speaking their words, every last Monday of every month. This reader series is not an open mic, in that it features a planned set of readers. If you are interested in reading in the future, email canwecallthislife@yahoo.com. This will be a consistent, safe place for people to come share their stories, poems, lectures, screenplays, or whatever you might be working on to a group of new people in the hope of reaching a variety of communities and individuals concerned with local literature and be a launch pad for new writers to perform in a non-workshop type setting. February's event will also feature the release of a small publication of works by the previous month's readers

Beloved

To hold onto our beloved
For just one more moment
Devine

BeBop

Streets pounce the lulled as Ghetto boy play on God’s time below in hazed daydream

Faces hold verses and ghosts of generations lost sport a strut that aches the peasants’ brow

It glows like daisies in junkyards.

Loco braves hustle on wicked concrete and dice

Chop lips of blues jargon give wind charmed gypsy life

The blessed urban life

Cancerous and pronounced

Crazed slim hipped girls tantrum a bruised sky

As the chatter of the avenue linger the sultry summer storms….

No future

No time

Lost on graffiti bleed walls

Days fall like pigeons from bridges and sweet dialog plot a fool’s gold

Blood on the fire escape and the innocent find no sidewalk to claim

They seek a jazz swagger love

And the girls swim

The music screams

And the alley shines

Forever reminisce in the hectic dusk

Slack-jaw hymns bellowing to the deity

It is my fragile paradise lost in the rail yards

Begging for a whispered revolt

Smack set minds hand down the message from Babylon

Tank-stalk waters cleanse the chalky streets

Swirled words trickle

Down

And down

And down they go

Absolute

Final

Dissolve

Home sick for the old school melodies

Music surges

Fathers cry

And a decrepit metropolis burns on into oblivious dawn

And it glides

In the saddest of all keys