October 20th, 2015
Machine Gun Elegance
Tonight I accidentally walked into a book store poetry performance. The man on stage, perhaps 45 with a slicked-back haircut, propelled himself through his material with the velocity of a speedboat through the choppy surf. There was a machine gun elegance to it, the melody being sacrificed to the rhythm. When he was done, he sheepishly nodded through the applause, and sat down without comment.