2008- the summer that poetry conquered Portland!
A big Golightly-sized thank you to those of you who came to my reading last Thursday. For those of you who missed the excitement, there will be some secrets that will never be shared, but unlike death and virginity, you get a second chance!
I'll be reading on Monday, July 14th (next Monday!) at the 3 Friends Coffeehouse at 201 SE 12th Ave (SE 12th and Ash) at 7 PM. There's three people on the lineup, not sure when I'll be on, and it'll be 20 minutes of Portland, revolutions, baristas, Europe, the wild west, rock and roll, and whatever else I can conjure up. Bring your friends and enemies. Requests gladly taken.
And I'm still planning to release my as-yet-untitled 3rd book next Thursday, July 17th, in honor of Jesus' arrival in Portland. The Jesus and Mary Chain, that is...
I'll leave you with a summer story of revolution. You can always check out my poetry at http://mikeygolightly.blogspot.com
Happy summer!
-Mikey Golightly
(uncensored version available by emailing Mikey)
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The Pittock Mansion is in flames this morning,
while tea-time ladies run screaming down the
West Hills avenues, gutters filling with blood,
chihuahuas under each arm,
chased by the bicycle revolutionaries,
broomstick lance under each arm.
Someone erected a guillotine on the Burnside Bridge,
and there’s a flotilla of dismembered heads
gathering against the Eastbank Esplanade-
xxxxxxxxkissing xxxxxxxxxx with stone blue lips
while xxxxxx xxxxxx’s gaping lifeless mouth is sucking
the decaying money-rotten brain out of xxxxx xxxx’s skull
through her limp, dangling spinal cord.
xxxxxx xxxxxx is stacking his millions against
Mecca’s front door, trying not to become
a windswept casualty of the class war
hurricane thundering down Burnside,
xxxx xxxxxxxxx’s jet turned back over Iowa,
now he’s exiled from the city he betrayed
and there’s a special blade waiting for him.
CNN says someone’s going to fly a plane
through the windows of Big Pink
but Portland revolutionaries can do better
than copy the fascist ploys of the dying American junta,
Portland’s at war now and I’m just standing
on the east side of the bridge,
counting the heads and calling out names,
only the pure of heart are crossing
the Willamette on this beautiful summer morning.
