Milk Bowl Moon Over St. Louis Release
Milk Bowl Moon Over St. Louis
by David E. Patton is now out from PERSISTENCIA*PRESS
From the inside cover:Part Langston Hughes bebop, part Beat freestyle, part Midwestern folk banter, the work of David E. Patton spans generations & weaves together a wealth of styles to create a unique & deeply personal vein of Americana. A gay, largely self-educated black man who came of age during the turbulence of the Sixties and Seventies, his voice reverberates with a humble confidence & lonesome strength which at once saddens & transfixes. Largely uninfluenced by recent movements, Patton’s material remains simple, insightful, & ultimately some of the most genuine to exist in modern poetry.
Three poems from Milk Bowl Moon...
Johnny’s vision of being romantic
is staring into my eyes,
room lit by candlelight while Zappa
and the Mothers’ Flower Punk plays in the background.
Or sitting out in the garden after taking mushrooms,
acting out the instruction of Ominous Spinach
playing from speakers in the doorway.
This gift of God is sweet but dated.
Several times committed to
Ft. Logan Mental Institution in Denver.
In Boulder, Johnny collects the morning papers from
front yards and deliver them on the other side of town.
This man of God stands out in Boulder during winter.
In summer this gift fits in with transients.
He is saying to strangers on the Boulder Mall,I am Gabriel come back from the dead!
Gabriel knows that the first of the year is 1966.
Johnny is neat but sedated,
chain smoking and throwing curses.
Strapped in his bed Johnny is saying,I am Gabriel come back from the dead!*
To be content
to know just
what a sparrow knows,
you must be
sparrow in your bones.
Old Mrs. Reagan told us to just say no
to the snow white girl,
the rock candy cloud,
the smack boy horsing Mary Jane in the love boat.
But white powder is so sweet to kids
who get the green back bucks from the streets.
15 year old can make more money than her Dad,
Dad out there guarding the homes of rich folks,
more than Mama who has given over her soul
to an absentee landlord,
more than sister-woman pushing
chemical infested burgers at the Mc,
more than brother-man whose poor black ass
is teaching capital addiction.
The disinherit see every day of their lives
the snow queen riches smiling down from billboards
and hear on the TV screams: buy me, buy me, buy me!
We ain’t shit without hair care,
without car style,
without bony thin looks in size six.
We ain’t clean without Tide freshness,
without sunlight in a bottle,
without lemon cleaning formula,
without cloud soft toiler paper for your ass.
We ain’t healthy without low calories,
without low salt,
without low fat.
We ain’t men without Brut Super Dry Extra Strength,
(buy 2, get 1 free and every woman’ll be at your feet!).
We ain’t popular without the brand of beer,
without breath smellin of Scope Original Mint .
Well, scope this—
capitalism thrives on addiction
and addiction thrives in capitalism.
22 pages of poetry, white heavy stock cover. To order a copy, send an e-mail to persistencia_press AT yahoo DOT com.
This chap concludes PERSISTENCIA's summer series. Look for work by Kirby Olson, Jeff Harrison, & others later this autumn.