Micah Ballard

micha ballardMicah Ballard was born in Baton Rouge, Louisiana, and lives in San Francisco. He is the author of Waifs and Strays (City Lights Books, 2011), nominated for a California Book Award, Parish Krewes (Bootstrap Press, 2009), Evangeline Downs (Ugly Duckling Presse, 2006), Negative Capability
in the Verse of John Wieners (Auguste Press, 2001) and many other books. He works for the MFA in Writing Program at USF and with Sunnylyn Thibodeaux co-edits Auguste Press and Lew Gallery Editions.

No Bones

I think
in bum French
& slender midriffs
a mansion on Falcon Street
received in hiding
leading is the experience
there is nothing ecstatic or visionary
for the back of its wings
I say something flowery
for the front I draw a delicately chased head
& slip into a gown
of last night’s missives
the innermost layers
are divided by feathers
the rest a phonebook novelette
to chime the glorious
first a dart of fire
then a pale whisper of blue
remind me how to fake it
but don’t quote me
I need something
more native to my attention
a war of nerves
& the best magazines
this side of the bed


From The Livid Country

I am glossing
the passage where Charon
quits poling his ferry for an island of beggars
I used to be one of them
until Erebus arrived. Now I alternate
between a lashing cypress and magic iris
might as well stick with it
the way to the precinct isn’t that far
the method is seduction
mercurial hijinks with my dwarf attendant
in memory of him
I crown a miniature Hercules
let me introduce you
but don’t be cruel
my voice frightens me too


Sun Drugs

I live off
a diamond of unmade music
& cultivate the crushing
even when your verb
indicates a bias
for a more fugitive account
check Chateau Marmont
they ascend as I imagine them
holy water fonts
punished by ceilings
a guest of a guest of a guest
my selected slurs
are a course on escapework alone
forget about the dated concerns
seeking rapture
I feel texted and not worthy
of conversation
my union a narrative of caves
working a crowded black light
whatever the varient
at least it’s time released
if I don’t return, remember
it was out of ritual


Sugar Skulls

I miss
my top notes by miles
nips off the old calvary
the throats
of idiots stinging my ears
until the new order
I won’t say a word
but count me in
for the ceremony
yesterday the marvels
today the played
“all I want to know
is what I don’t”
people like that
say they always do


Cippi Of Horus

I hid in the tall weeds
three loud pimps
& their painted beards
when writing wasn’t defined
by reading I could crib
the baby at will
give my respects to the unaware
I’m still flattering
strangers & morphing into polarities
if a hybrid form might pass
remind the police not to rile me
a note extant: leave
the abomination to the walls
I don’t walk, I get carried


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