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bits and bytes

tomorrow, martin at acentos
saturday, parse book release

today, i am the happiest i have ever been in my life

later today, letter writing and memorizing more poems

at the rate, i might have a whole half hour of “hits” and “covers” stored in the dome by months end

re: the “hits” i have not had a whole lot of desire to be on any open mic in the last few months. in actuality, i have not had very much desire to perform in the last few months. the opportunities come and i attack em pretty well but i think that particular phase of my poetic existence may be fading fast.

re: the “covers” performing barbara’s poem this last weekend was a real joy. i still smile when i say “it is always autumn”

carpet-micers, i am expecting some to come out but not to the extent of some of the other high-profile events we have done in the past. lemme say this, as an audience member- i dig these “big” events. as the curator, i cant stand em. i hate hype. “martín is fly. take my word for it. come on down” you know how many times i can type that sentence and how many names i can list for a variety of reasons.

ima miss both nina & raina tomorrow. they should really be here enjoying this.

dreaming of silver blue constellations. apparently, if you follow orion, you will find your self home. at least, thats how it works for me.

MISSING ANGELS by Adrian Castro

When they descended on waxed wings
on our white, our red, brown
on our elevated wings–
is it possible they stole you from
when they ruffled the myriad brushes
that paint our landscape
painted on rhythmic pulse of travel–
Is it possible to wash blood off skin
& flowers off skin

The memory of you my brother
paving the stone trail with soft music
a wandering tumble down our veins
a shift in atlas
the quest for the perennial record
the memory of you
still
archival
like the fact everyone is first from somewhere else

Remember we too migrated–
we once left our signatures on the sand
& on night
sliding through our fingers
like hourglass
And the memory of you
swearing an oath on a steel pike
then offering it deep to the earth & ocean
dead fish looking on

We promised we would not end like the others
forgetful of breeze
the smooth Caribbean relax
of conversation
the humanity of doing nothing

Soon you’ll have to answer to the sand you swore
& the steel you swore
because it’s possible they’ve hidden you
buried the script of you
the arching target of history: Yet
blood reaches home soon
Sand will eventually turn to bone
Wind will feel its flesh
Steel will give it body

& there is still music
more music
memorized in stone

from Adrian Castro’s “Wise Fish- Tales in 6/8 Time”