HI, I’ll be presenting for Trickhouse Live at Casa Libre W/ Deanne Stillman Tuesday, September 18 7-9 p.m. $5 Suggested Donation

Trick House Live is an integrative arts series that brings together people working with words, images, sounds, videos, and a variety of performances. The series serves as a venue for visiting artists to interact with local artists and for the borders between genres and mediums to be permeable. Trickhouse Live is a physical world extension of the online cross-genre arts journal, Trickhouse.org which is based in Tucson.

Deanne Stillman is the award-winning author of Mustang, a Los Angeles Times Best Book of 2008, and the cult classic Twentynine Palms, a Los Angeles Times Best Book of 2001 which Hunter Thompson called “A strange and brilliant story by an important American writer.” Her latest book, Desert Reckoning, is based on her acclaimed Rolling Stone article, “The Great Mojave Manhunt.” She is a member of the core faculty at the UC Riverside-Palm Desert Low Residency MFA Creative Writing Program and currently divides her time between Tucson, AZ and Los Angeles, CA.

I make poems and visual art. You can view a portfolio of my visual art at valyntinagrenier.com. I hosts Back Room Live, and blog at Harriet Homemaker and Life Long Press. The photo was taken by Richard Siken at LIVE @ LIV, thanks Richard!

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MP3: YOU by Charles Bane Jr  WATCH THE VIDEO HERE


m
WHAT IF I SAID
M
Stealing glances and trying to

look deep enough

Love speaks in its own

strange ways

Afraid that I might wake up

and break this dream

I tried drowning myself

into absence

but you – you are present all the time

And now I roam with a poem

stuck in my chest

it doesn’t let me breathe

but I can’t pen it down either

Three words that I need to say

and maybe you need to hear

m

m

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YOU by Charles Bane Jr

February 21, 2011

YOU

I came upon you

when I was a child

and kept the memory

close, through every

feverish year.  My hair

was silk from corn; yours,

black as the birds upon the snow

I fed the winter long. I opened books

at night and looked at barest

trees and wished for Spring. I watched

for leaves birthing like the stars. I made

poems, and saved the lights I found

waiting in my marrow. One day I would tell

you of the music I heard between its honey-

combs and followed til words rested

on a page. You would understand. You

would hold the glass and pour my amber

work until it filled you to a brim.

You would say, this flames the trees

and you are the harvester of my soul.

m

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