the ALES BEWARE MOOD-SHAPED READING

That’s right!

Jeff Alessandrelli
Trey Moody and
Joshua Ware

will visit us from Lincoln, Nebraska, to pelt us with amazing poems
this Friday, November 4th, at 7 p.m.
Avol’s Bookstore, 315 West Gorham

it will provide your life with a coherent structure of meaning, or will do something else that’s even more exciting.

We, your hosts, got to read with Messrs. Moody and Ware back in the spring, and are very happy that they and Jeff are coming to our neck of the prairie.

Here are some bios and poems, the formatting of which has been butchered by this medium. We apologize for the stubborn left margin.

Trey Moody is the author of Climate Reply (New Michigan Press/DIAGRAM) and Once Was a Weather (Greying Ghost Press, forthcoming), and his poems appear in Best New Poets 2009, Boston Review (soon), Colorado Review, Denver Quarterly, Indiana Review, and Washington Square. He co-curates The Clean Part Reading Series in Lincoln, NE, where he teaches and works for Prairie Schooner.

A WEATHER

Why a. Why not bring bodies
back to home. Bones
before our tracks, after parks
cleared leaves. Why radio. Listen
listlessly, then sleep. Why weather
becomes a lack—language suffers, like you.
Paths, too, refuse use. Why department.
Why soda. Five calendars of blue.
Light lingers long as memory, but
why winter. Music
wanes, despite the view.

Jeff Alessandrelli is the author of the little book Erik Satie Watusies His Way Into Sound (Ravenna Press, 2011) and the chapbook Don’t Let Me Forget To Feed the Sharks (Poor Claudia, forthcoming) and currently lives in Lincoln, NE, where, along with Trey Moody, he co-curates the latest incarnation of The Clean Part Reading Series. Recent work by him appears/is forthcoming in Sentence, Quarterly West, Forklift, Ohio, CutBank and Eleven Eleven, among others.

Poem with Limbs

The audible shape
of a billowing scream,

avalanche that began milk-white
and died dark dark red.

The sun shining;
the resort’s holiday weekend package.

Too many birds staring
from the newly-understood limbs

of an upstanding tree.

Joshua Ware lives in Lincoln, NE. His first book, Homage to Homage to Homage to Creeley, won the 2010 Furniture Press Poetry Prize and was published this past summer. He is the author of the chapbooks Excavations (Further Adventures Press) and A Series of Ad Hoc Permutations (Scantily Clad Press, as well as the co-author of I, NE: Iterations of the Junco. His writing has appeared in many journals, such as American Letters & Commentary, Colorado Review, New American Writing, New Orleans Review, Quarterly West, and Western Humanities Review.

You Sure Have Taken a Shine to that Cowpoke

Under
the fluorescent
gloss of art
“I”
facial
lighting, we sing
and collide. A scope and array
of colors and shapes
dizzy us into agreeing
every angle is needed
to view a panoramic of our
selves against fragmented
skies and rooms made
of grass.
________________________________________________________________________

Marge Simpson once said: “You sure have taken a shine to that cowpoke.”

In their younger days, the poets would get stoned and go to the grocery in search of Walt Whitman; they never found him. Although, they usually left feeling a bit dazzled by the large quantity of products available to consumers, not to mention the amount of “choices” available when a person is in need of one of those specific products.

Adorno once wrote: “Art now dutifully admits to being a commodity, abjures its autonomy and proudly takes its place among consumer goods.”

During the poets’ aforementioned grocery visits, they would become disoriented by the vibrantly colored packaging.

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