Ode To The Wine Enthusiast:

The best thing to counteract the effects of radiation, is wine. And so with that said here is the poem for the weekend. Musician’s feel free to recite it at those stuffy dinner parties:

Ode To The Wine Enthusiast:

I know the ins and outs of your favorite song
And I can explain it to you
But I would never suggest you are hearing it wrong
You’re enjoying it just right

The Manufacturing of: The Modern American Gypsy

1st 3 Books & Set Up Book

The first three, untrimmed, numbered and signed copies of The Modern American Gypsy as seen in this video are available below. All proceeds go toward the manufacturing bill.

Modern American Gypsy #1: http://cgi.ebay.com/ws/eBayISAPI.dll?ViewItem&item=250986350448

Modern American Gypsy #2: http://cgi.ebay.com/ws/eBayISAPI.dll?ViewItem&item=250986365939

Modern American Gypsy #3: http://cgi.ebay.com/ws/eBayISAPI.dll?ViewItem&item=250986366593

The ‘Set Up Book’ is available as well: http://cgi.ebay.com/ws/eBayISAPI.dll?ViewItem&item=250986353468

The Modern American Gypsy:
This is the accounts of 220 day squat tour David McWane took with his men across England and Europe, playing music and searching for the unknown. It is less of a band’s autobiography and more of – men vs. their odds story. It could be compared to the comradeship found in Endurance by Ernest Shackleton or Steinbeck’s illumination of the strength of men at their most challenged.  The Modern American Gypsy is an expedition for self-exploration.

Excerpts from The Modern American Gypsy


             The sky above the festival in Munich looked as if a young girl had applied make up to it.  The zentrum was blocked off for us to perform on a massive stage.  People filled the sunny street with children and beer.  I stood on stage, looking about, recognizing the buildings from classroom text books and WWII footage, of roof tops that flew dominating swastika flags.  The sides of these same buildings draped also with, the Nazi eagle and Iron Cross.  Now, nothing red bunts these buildings and only a few small indistinctive flags flap.

The sun reflected on the crowd making their skin tight and their eyes slits.  The joy of the people of Munich sailed atop this day on the rapids of the flowing foamy beer, poured to them from small stands by pleased plump men.  Young kids wiggled around the base of the stage to get a peak at the American musicians and froze, casting their heads down and their eyes up if you felt and checked on their stare.

We took the stage with no applause.  Got the young hippies dancing first, then the mothers jiggled with surprised faces at the babies they carried, holding one of their little hands and dipping them until they giggled.  The old men liked the sound enough to slightly nod their heads; old men like when bands have horns, the sound gave them something to do as they drank their beer and talked man talk.  The young girls sprang up together and danced in a circle by the third number and the boys smartened up and joined them by the fourth.  The wise elders were overjoyed clapping slowly to their own beat, while children jumped up and down with their dogs running around them, barking from all the excitement.  Teenagers found their own circle to dance, they knew the words and felt proud to be so smart.  And the promoter of the show looked relieved and finally smiled accepting his first beer of the day.

I had learned some German, pantomimed it as I butchered the foreign words into the microphone.  The crowd cheered, clapped and corrected me with spitting laughter.  A few young girls had taken to the front and gawked at their favorite musicians.  The promoter came on stage in mid song and handed everyone a beer, the crowd screamed “PROST-PROST-PROST” and I scream “DANKE-DANKE-PROST-PROST!” back.

As the mascara ran down over the sky, the cool air delicately introduced itself not to disturb the party and the shop lights switched off as the street lights came on.  We began to play softer songs and the crowd tossed on sweaters and shawls and couples moved closer to one another.  Now everyone watched with sleeves-over-hands and both hands on their drinks, that is, if you didn’t have a woman or girl to keep warm.  Young men danced by holding their women from behind and swaying back and forth, while the older couples took their opportunity to show off the more elegant times, by embracing in the center, men holding their life loves assertively, spotlighted with love, executing light spins, dips with a kiss.  One of the men and I enjoyed pointing out all those who kissed while we performed to one another and there were many for us to smile over.  But it is not our job to leave people calm on a Friday night, so we brought the music up again and the celebration resumed.




Three glasses of wine

I sit at a small table,

on the secondfloor

of the Eiffel Tower

in the bar room.

I order three glasses of wine

from the waiter,

he explains to me,

that in France

“you order one glass,

sip it, enjoy it,

and most importantly




I said, “that was beautiful,

but it will still be








Warm Rooftops, Distant Snow, Future Wine, Olive Oil For Sale & The Tanning Prostitutes

 My room was on the top floor,

so all of the men went up there

to have their smoke.

The windows were opened

we sat on the beds,

and talked about the finances

of our trip,

and of the condition

of our Sprinter.

The sun was coming in through

the open windows

and it’s heat was so pleasing to us,

that it led us all

to crawl out the windows.

We first found



rusty ladder.

It led us to the

hotel’s warm rooftop.

The smell of our meal being prepared

in the bottom floor kitchen

came with each passing breeze.

We were all hungry

and Michael, the owner,

always fed us well here.

I knew that there would be

many bottles of  wine

on the table,

so there were great things

in our future.

The shingles we sat on

were red and curved.

Distant church bells rang the hour

from the north and the east

and someone far off was using a chain saw;

it buzzed.

The summits of the Swiss Alps

were covered in snow,

but their bodies were not.

The gondola was still.

Sunlight reflected

on everything shiny

and we had a bird’s eye view

of the small village

from the steaming rooftop.

Men walked with their jackets neatly hung

over their shoulders,

merchants sold homemade olive oil

and olive paste out of carts,

a cat crossed the street hesitantly and slowly,

then dashed,

one of the prostitutes

sunning herself atop a lower rooftop

was finished

and went back inside

and you could see her tan naked body

through the open shutter

making lunch,

as the other

two prostitutes

continued tanning,

repositioning their

long shiny legs

and began looking up at us men,

sitting above them,

breathing the

afternoon pleasantries,


on the roof top.

Then they waved.


Poem of the night & Audio Poem of the Night:

you’re an animal

 you’re an animal, it’s not your fault

things make you mad

your mood shifts

and then

you begin to hate

the people at the baseball game smiling – piss you off

the couples walking and laughing – make you sick

your brow is low

and your muscles are tight

eyes dash scanning for starved,

fevered sights

to hate upon

you don’t want to join them

you don’t want to feel better

you don’t want to dance

you don’t want anything other then to exist in this world by

your God damned schematics

you’re an animal, it’s not your fault


lick your canines

and growl at me


From the book: Biting Lightening, Bloody Mary available here.

 A Fight In New Orleans

Evening Poems…or two poems and a thought.

The Two Poems:

the lazy lover

“then strike me down

blade out my heart

if I am not to find my love,

if I am to live in this world without her”

the young man screamed to the world

so the world sent a young woman

she approached him calmly

she unsheathed a blade

touched his shoulder

and cut out his


and said

“if you are not man enough

to wait, to search,

to find me

and save me

from the loveless world you speak of

then you

do deserve

to be stricken down


with all your

cheap moaning”

the wolf & the sleeping deer 

some women like a rough man

they like the feeling

that the wolf only allows the deer

to sleep by him

both knowing

he could

eat her

at any time

The Thought:

Better to be foolish from happiness than foolish from unhappiness.

From the book, Let The Poets Come & Stop Me.

Poem of the Day: Boston


when I travel

people ask me what it’s like to be from Boston

well, I would describe it as

after working a twelve hour hard shift plus commute,

to trying to park your car for an hour

but the only spot available is a handicapped space

or a loading zone

or an entire block is blocked off for construction

then you see someone pulling out, but they’re really pulling in

then it’s valet

then it’s resident

then it’s too small

then it’s okay, but at 5 AM it isn’t anymore

then you see one

a real one

but that’s not one

but wait there’s one

but when you pull into it,

you don’t get happy

you just glare at it

cause everyone

and everything

is against you

The above poem Boston is from the book Biting Lightening, Bloody Mary available here and at interpunk.com.