December 20, 2014

Spare Room + Bone Tax

Saturday, December 20
7:00 pm 

Ford Food & Drink
2505 Southeast 11th Avenue

$5 suggested donation 

Spare Room and Bone Tax join forces to bring you Tom Blood and Betsy Andrews. Also featuring Robyn Bateman, Robert Duncan Gray, Aubrey Lenahan, Lindsay Allison Ruoff and Samuel Snoek-Brown.  

Betsy Andrews is the author of The Bottom (42 Miles Press, 2014), winner of the 42 Miles Press Poetry Prize, and New Jersey (University of Wisconsin Press, 2007), which was awarded the Brittingham Prize in Poetry. Her chapbooks include She-Devil (Sardines Press, 2003), In Trouble (Boog Press, 2004), and Supercollider (2006), a collaboration with the artist Peter Fox. Her writing has appeared widely in publications ranging from Fence, Stone Canoe, and Phoebe to the Yemeni newspaper Culture. She is a graduate of the MFA program in poetry at George Mason University. 

Lindsay Allison Ruoff lives in Portland, Oregon. She made MOOD RING, an ebook of poems, which can be read online for free. See more of what she makes at laruoff.tumblr.com

Robert Duncan Gray is an English artist currently living and working in Portland, Oregon. He is the author of Ticklish Animal (Bone Tax Press, 2014) and Lunch Money (Poor Claudia, 2013), amongst other published works. He is the curator and host of À reading series and performs music under the pseudonym COLDGOLDCHAIN. More work and info at www.sillyrobchildish.com


excerpt from The Bottom

Atop the bottom, the water-ghost
the riddle-ghost tower, fireballs lapping the ghost map
the ghost nets, the ghost moon, the ghost lines, the ghost traps,
the fingerlings giving up ghost
the long dark drive, the ghost drive, over the derelict moat
the ghost era's ghost-dish, its secrets, its swallows,
its test site's thousand ghost bites named for rivers
and ice caps and nautical terms, for fish and for towns named for ghost
the long-gone ghost of the beaver meadow, Las Vegas they called it, skinned
ghost wagers streaming in
the once-and-again wealth of the nation a tour-tram parking lot coast
ghost of the barnacled schoolroom, lesson a nibbling ghost
In the hook-and-sink daybreak
at the ghost-black terminal, its scaffolds and catwalks and ladders and berths,
gunships its ghost-and-ghost host,
a borne-again freighter named Universal Hope is suckling, is guzzling up the ghost
in the cold commons' ghost mouth, a trio of pearls,
three itches enraptured by ghost
the narwhal the sea cow the sea mink the monk seal a mouthful of ghost word, extinct
the half-seas' coral a ghost story written in bone-white ink
The king counts his ghostlands,
his wrecks and his flotsam, his jetsam, his water-strays, his fishes.
My wish is: We are on the shore, we are looking out at the water.
You are lying beside me, curled.
The sun is coming up. I am turning you over
I am going to see your face
The sun is coming up, I am turning you over
I am going to be able to see your face


Betsy Andrews 



When I am still I am a Buffalo 

Friend The Moon
Sing to Nothing

Watch a parade parade
Down the beach beach

The plant (plastic)
Is dying

As Green yellowbellies
In the bored sun

I observe Tequila Summer 
And Tequila Winter 

Too close to The fire
In the cuts

One day I will count
All the palm trees in California

Right now
I'm just guessing

Sitting on succulents
Outside Grand Central Market

Hot in November 
As The dogs of Winter

Lick the sides of my Sun Coffin
I am sleepy Yes

But I think it'll be
An odd number

And if not 
We could always burn one down



Robert Duncan Gray


WEIRD SANDWICH

Wilderness meat

and whatever's around

Dead fish & shaved ice

in the centerfold


We part

and the available sea

blushes


Transcript of medium dream:

quasar sandwich

sandwich intimacy


Square toes riding

heavywind

survives love in deep submerge

only to find

mad dog sandwich

when you eat it


And drip blood

on the stairs--

there was blood on

the mat--his feet walked

miles bled some


Naked roadsidesnack

recommended melon


Not MapQuest


A cultivated hunger

sandwiched between

heroic vigil and

misery lap


Facing the ocean

a demon or a boy

annexed

to a hole I can't close

but can make bigger


Watch me push


Lindsay Allison Ruoff