Wednesday, March 5, 2014

Alli Warren & Lindsey Boldt 3/30 7:00 p.m. IPRC

The Switch will host two poets from San Francisco: Lindsey Boldt, author of Overboard, from Publication Studio of Portland, and Alli Warren, author of Warm Jets from City Lights Books.

When: Sunday, March 30, 7 p.m. FREE

Where: Independent Publishing Resource Center (IPRC), 1001 SE Division St., Portland

Lindsey Boldt is the author of Overboard (Publication Studio Portland) and the chapbooks, "Titties for Lindsey" and "Oh My, Hell Yes." She also writes and performs plays in the style of "Oakland Poetic Realism" with Steve Orth, with whom she also co-edits Summer BF Press. Lindsey works as a teaching artist in Bay Area public schools and is an editor with The Post-Apollo Press. She lives in Oakland, California.


Alli Warren is the author of Here Come the Warm Jets (City Lights Books) as well as numerous other chapbooks including Grindin (Lew Gallery), Acting Out (Editions Louis Wain), and Well-Meaning White Girl (Mitzvah Chaps). She edits the magazine Dreamboat and co-edits the Poetic Labor Project. Alli lives in Oakland.







By Lindsey Boldt
  
Hey,

But did you really never eff up?
or did you remain ineffable?

Sigh.

Great job, thank God
Someone managed to evade it
I, unfortunately, effed up in my efforts
it seemed inescapable and almost effortless
like I and my friends would always
inevitably drop the F-bomb
everyone of us dropping these effing bombs
all day long

We were intelligent, aware, effete and effective
wearing good garments
listening to the other on KPFA
confronting our fears w/ culture
Fa-fa-fa-fa-fa far better
than most fair folks
XXL-ent readers
but kind of always effing up somehow
trying too hard to be just ok.


By Alli Warren
CALIFORNIA COMPLIANT


walking slowly across the colony
cups on the lawn & a champagne cork
my favorite water storage district
the watery milk of established fact
who here thinks a woman is soft
who persists in entering
a mismanaged idea of linkage
the star system and hit parade
giving rhythm to the round dance
operational beyond its own syntax
dread-drenched in the backseat
meteorites strike the sky & the abyss
opening in four directions
the morning light never looked so
fourteen kinds of melancholy
& you think the ocean is a drift
they come in such numbers
open your eyes, blue

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