"Grass" by Carl Sandburg

The Pyramid at Austerlitz

"Grass"

by Carl Sandburg

Pile the bodies high at Austerlitz and Waterloo.

Shovel them under and let me work—

                                          I am the grass; I cover all.

And pile them high at Gettysburg

And pile them high at Ypres and Verdun.

Shovel them under and let me work.

Two years, ten years, and passengers ask the conductor:

                                          What place is this?

                                          Where are we now?

                                          I am the grass.

                                          Let me work.

The Lion Mound at Waterloo

"Three Years Later" by Atlas St. Cloud

"Three Years Later" by Atlas St. Cloud  at The Rebel Lounge in Phoenix on Oct. 18, 2022.

Ghost Poetry Show is committed to creating a community of writers from the greater Phoenix area (and beyond) to share their work on stage. We take pride in having poets that have never performed their work in front of anyone, all the way up to poets that have competed at the national level. No matter gender, race, religion, ethnicity, sexual orientation, or age anyone can take the stage and compete in the three round poetry slam.

"The Minister of Loneliness" by Sarah Kay

 "The Minister of Loneliness" by Sarah Kay 

at Gray Area in San Francisco, Calif.

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About Button:

Button Poetry is committed to developing a coherent and effective system of production, distribution, promotion and fundraising for spoken word and performance poetry.

We seek to showcase the power and diversity of voices in our community. By encouraging and broadcasting the best and brightest performance poets of today, we hope to broaden poetry's audience, to expand its reach and develop a greater level of cultural appreciation for the art form.

Salt Lake City poetry slam powerhouse R.J. Walker features at Sedona Poetry Slam on Jan. 13

With 2023 in the rear-view mirror and 2024 underway, the Sedona Poetry Slam enters its 15th season (but 16th year!) of performance poets bringing high-energy, competitive spoken word to the Mary D. Fisher Theatre starting at 7:30 p.m. Saturday, Jan. 13.

Between rounds, Salt Lake City spoken word powerhouse R.J. Walker will perform a featured set. A poetry slam is like a series of high-energy, three-minute one-person plays, judged by the audience. Anyone can sign up to compete in the slam for the $75 grand prize and $25 second-place prize.

R.J. Walker

RJ Walker is a performance poet and voice actor from Salt Lake City, Utah. Walker has performed at the National Poetry Slam numerous times, representing Salt Lake City and Sugar House Utah. At the Individual World Poetry Slam he was a showcased poet on final stage and placed sixth overall at the 2017 Individual world poetry slam.

 

Walker won the NPS Spirit of the Slam award for organizing the first Compliment Deathmatch event. 

   

The next year he placed fourth at the National Poetry Slam with the Salt City Unified team. He is a winner of the Button Poetry video contest.

   

In Salt Lake City, Walker is the host and operator of The Greenhouse Effect Open Mic, SLC’s longest running open mic style event. Walker is a TEDX SLC speaker and was a keynote speaker for the League of Utah Writers’ Quills Conference.

>Outside of poetry, Walker has narrated over 30 audiobooks, designed escape rooms, written murder mystery adventures, designed alternate reality games that take players on adventures through the urban exploration of Salt Lake City and written five produced plays for Salt Lake Community College, Wasatch Theatre Company and The Utah Arts Alliance.

   

 He is an Irene Ryan-nominated actor and an ACTF finalist in playwriting. He is also a runner up for the ACTF devised theatre competition.

Currently on the creative team for The Box theatre, Walker serves as a playwright in residence and is the executive director of Lords of Misrule theatre company which pioneers mutual-aid focused theatre arts.

Open Slam

To compete in the slam, poets will need three original poems, each lasting no longer than three minutes. No props, costumes nor musical accompaniment are permitted. The poets are judged Olympics-style by five members of the audience selected at random at the beginning of the slam.

Slam poetry is an art form that allows written page poets to share their work alongside theatrical performers, hip-hop artists and lyricists. Poets come from as far away as Phoenix, Tucson and Flagstaff, competing against adult poets from Sedona and Cottonwood, college poets from Northern Arizona University and youth poets from Sedona Red Rock High School. All types of poetry are welcome on the stage, from street-wise hip-hop and narrative performance poems, to political rants and introspective confessionals. Any poem is a "slam" poem if performed in a competition. All poets get three minutes per round to entertain and inspire the audience with their creativity.

   

Mary D. Fisher Theatre is located at 2030 W. SR 89A, Suite A-3, in West Sedona. Tickets are $12. For tickets, call 282-1177 or visit SedonaFilmFestival.org. The next poetry slams of the season will be held on Saturdays, Feb. 3; March 9; April 13, featuring Briana Grace Hammerstrom of Portland. Ore., by way of Flagstaff, May 11 and finally on June 8. The prize money is funded in part by a donation from Verde Valley poetry supporters Jeanne and Jim Freeland. Email foxthepoet@yahoo.com to sign up early to compete or by the Friday before the slam or at the door the day of the slam. Poets who want to compete should purchase a ticket in case the roster is filled before they arrive. >For more information, visit sedonafilmfestival.com or foxthepoet.blogspot.com. a href="https://www.azpoet.com/" target="_blank">For a full list of slam poetry events in Arizona, visit azpoet.com.

What is Poetry Slam?

Founded at the Green Mill Tavern in Chicago in 1984 by Marc Smith, poetry slam is a competitive artistic sport designed to get people who would otherwise never go to a poetry reading excited about the art form when it becomes a high-energy competition. Poetry slams are judged by five randomly chosen members of the audience who assign numerical value to individual poets' contents and performances.

   

Poetry slam has become an international artistic sport, with more than 100 major poetry slams in the United States, Canada, Australia and Western Europe. Slam poets have opened at the Winter Olympics, performed at the White House and at the United Nations General Assembly and were featured on "Russell Simmons' Def Poets" on HBO. Sedona has sent four-poet teams to represent the city at the National Poetry Slam in Charlotte, N.C., Boston, Cambridge, Mass., Oakland, Calif., Decatur, Ga., Denver and Chicago.

"The Distance" by Danny Sherrard

 

"The Distance"

by Danny Sherrard

put me in the distance 

now if you guys don't know

the Distance 

it's out there 

it's kind of like where the truth has this way 

of answering all your questions 

without even having to speak 

like the first time you set eyes on the first love of your life 

as they were just walking down the street 

put me in the distance 

where you can riddle rumors out about my existence

like maybe the mighty Mike McGee will say

"I heard that Danny was kidnapped 

by a renegade Amazon tribe in the Amazon 

and they took him under their wing 

so now his blowgun skills 

phhhhhhhhhhhhhhhwop!

are impeccable"

See when I'm in the distance myth-making it ain't gonna be my job anymore 

it'll be yours 

and I think it would be just what the doctor ordered 

if I was in the distance so long

that there was a band of Danny impersonators 

running the streets of Providence 

like quicksand horses 

that everyone's eyes could just sort of sink into 

and I feel it like our hearts are all in the distance 

pumping vision into our blood and blood back into our vision 

distance is being able to see things from the inside out 

distance is where the future grows 

distance puts the marrow in tomorrow 

distance is what I want to eat for breakfast 

it's the bullseye tattooed the inside of my solar plexus 

and only the sunset can pierce it 

so CR when I'm gone 

I'll be gone 

my back would be turned 

by the time y'all's arrows are drawn 

the distance that I'm all wrapped up in 

will put the potential energy in your quiver 

distance is the backbone in my swagger 

and the twang in my stupid honesty 

see without the distance my gunslingers wrists 

hang lifeless with arthritis at my sides 

and gypsy of my lips forgets how to kiss the sky 

without the distance 

some nights I grind my wisdom teeth into a fine powder 

and I lace my cigarette other nights 

I use it 

to fill the empty hour glasses 

I put them in the world 

where things always get turned upside down 

to feel like I have more time 

I do headstands 

on escalators

I'll hit my spirit with the reflex hammer

just to see if its knee jerks 

I get used to the different-day same T-shirt 

I'll play with symbols and reverse and reverse till I bleed earth 

listen, these words are patchwork nothing 

I left my patchworks right between West 4th and Bleecker

so now I band up the box 

of the past 

with a blindfold on 

I'll keep tomorrow a breath away 

and break dawn like an egg across the home of your hate 

because distance 

is a dynamite psycho static patchwork matchstick stuck on motion 

and I'm a riverstone explosion 

a chiseled whisperin' echo crumbling in on itself 

a clover grown its fourth leaf 

check your kinetics 

check my kinetics 

striking lightning off the Braille of our pulse

put me in the distance and I will go 

I will go to the pawn shop at the end of the universe 

where the pawn shop owner 

keeps his beard in check 

with that razor blade you may have traded in for a second chance 

and he'll look at me 

from behind those elusive crossed arms 

and that wayward smile 

that pawn shop owners often have 

and I'll just take a look around 

I'll see the angel wings slung up on the walls 

and all of our old dreams 

bottled in jars on shelves 

that slant for the weight 

until I realized that this 

is as far as I can go 

I'll move the distance out of the way 

walk up to that pawn shop owner and say:

"listen, I've got a great story

it's about a spirit 

trying to find his way 

back to his bones

and I'm willing to trade it in

just so long as you can give me directions

on how to get back home"

 

Danny Sherrard wows the crowd at the Applesauce Teahouse in Flagstaff in November 2007

Born in Seattle, Washington on August 29, 1985, Sherrand he won the Individual National Poetry Slam competition in 2007, becoming the youngest competitor at that time to win such a title. In 2008 Sherrard won France's Poetry World Cup where he competed against national champions from 15 countries.

Sherrard was on the Seattle poetry slam teams in 2007 and 2008 and the 2009 HawaiiSlam team.

At the beginning of 2009 Danny Sherrard toured with the spoken word group The Spilljoy Ensemble composed of himself, Jon Sands, Shira Erlichman and Ken Arkind.

Sherrard's first book, "Cast Your Eyes like River Stones into the Exquisite Dark," was released in 2009 through Write Bloody Publishing.

Sedona Poetry Slam 2023-24 flyer

 

"Justino" by Ryan Brown

"Justino"

By Ryan Brown

It took him forty-eight years

to become a dishwasher

at Pita Jungle.

Nine bucks an hour,

thirty-some hours a week,

sweat pouring off his brow

to mask the exhaustion of a face

that is no longer concerned with fairness.

He is here, everyday,

fingers to the grindstone,

tougher than the forgotten beef jerky

in some badass rebel biker's

leather jacket pocket.

He is the Zen master,

the rush without the hurry,

too grateful for what he has

and for that, 

he does not blend in there,

but this is one of his high points.

Justino does the dirty work

in a restaurant that expects

wine glasses to sparkle

like they haven't been whored out

to fifty colors of lipstick

in the last two weeks alone.

When you can't speak English

or read in any language

but the blue, green, 

and orange tongues of dish soap,

it is difficult to embellish

your minimal education on a job application,

where only a name and previous work experience

sweat off the page,

as if about to be interrogated 

by bitter men in blue uniforms.

"Quiero trabajar."

"Quiero estar contento"

and in Arizona there is a chance, 

there are truckloads of wasted food,

and it is far easier to feed a backbone

whose vertebrae have the weight of

an entire family hanging on

for survival.

This is one of his high points, 

and at five-foot-five

Justino still reaches like a summit.

He was raised ten sniper-scope

magnifications away from an America 

that will cross the ocean

armed and blindfolded

to siphon a stranger's oil,

but won't speak patiently

with the next door neighbors about

changes that need to happen

on our shared soil.

His existence isn't waist-deep 

in politics anymore;

this is all too human for puppet shows now.

It all happened in a cluster of struggle

before he could choose the outcome of the story

through a ballot box,

so he wrote it with the distance

between two constitutions,

determined as the sun

to run circles around us.

He exercises patience everyday,

arms unwinding only after 10 p.m.,

thousands of miles and light years from childhood,

the Sahara breathing sand 

on each country's land,

but we aren't supposed to know

we have this much in common.

The invisible particles of a hundred wasted dinners

cling to his skin like the smog smothering 

both Downtown Phoenix and Mexico City.

His fists are iron 

and have been crushing minutes 

into nickels since he was 9 years old.  

He is 48 going on 60

going on "what-did-all-these-years-evaporate-into?"

like he ever had a choice,

like he wasn't born into making things easier

for people who never had it hard.

The grindstone always looks like a rolling highway

when you've got your face pressed against it,

and 50 years from now,

his skin will be so

wrinkled and rough and wise,

it won't even be real.

Some Americans are still compelled

to resist a society where different nationalities 

are forced to cooperate peacefully.

They hate the idea so much,

that sometimes, 

they even write an email about it,

or a bill.

But his time is too precious for the bias 

of blue comfort and hungry fear.

He wants only to give a piece

of this world to his family,

and in a place where people

would rather have the world

handed to them, 

he does one hell 

of a job.

Ryan Brown is a poet's poet in every sense of the word. The mountain town of Flagstaff is known for a poetry slam scene where poets come together as a community, and  Brown was at the center of the growth as the FlagSlam Poetry Slam's slammaster from 2008 to 2012.

Brown attended four National Poetry Slam competitions as a member of the FlagSlam team in 2008, 2009, 2010 and 2012, getting as far as the semi-finals round in 2009. At the helm of Flagstaff's slam scene, Brown brought in featured poets such as Andrea Gibson and Gypsee Yo to help reinvigorate the poetry community in a town still bursting with poetic flavor a decade late.

An English major at Northern Arizona University, Brown collaborated often with poets such as Frank O'Brien, John Cartier and Sedona's Jessica Guadarrama and Christopher Fox Graham. He writes with the future in mind, his poems often revolving around the intimacy of human relationships.

After graduating with an English degree from NAU in 2012, Brown taught English in South Korea. He now lives in Nashville, Tenn.

Dan Seaman, "Side of the Road"

"Side of the Road" is some daydreaming about recently-old relationships and moving along on a long uninterrupted wide-open-country motorcycle trip to Redstone, Colo. danseamanfmx/localafprods music: www.audionautix.com

Sedona Poetry Slam returns for 15th season on Saturday, Oct. 7

The Sedona Poetry Slam returns for its 15th season Saturday, Oct. 7. Performance poets will bring high-energy, competitive spoken word to the Mary D. Fisher Theatre starting at 7:30 p.m. 

A poetry slam is like a series of high-energy, three-minute one-person plays, judged by the audience. Anyone can sign up to compete in the slam for the $75 grand prize and $25 second-place prize. 

To compete in the slam, poets will need three original poems, each lasting no longer than three minutes. No props, costumes nor musical accompaniment are permitted. The poets are judged Olympics-style by five members of the audience selected at random at the beginning of the slam.

Slam poetry is an art form that allows written page poets to share their work alongside theatrical performers, hip-hop artists and lyricists. Poets come from as far away as Phoenix, Tucson and Flagstaff, competing against adult poets from Sedona and Cottonwood, college poets from Northern Arizona University and youth poets from Sedona Red Rock High School. All types of poetry are welcome on the stage, from street-wise hip-hop and narrative performance poems, to political rants and introspective confessionals. Any poem is a "slam" poem if performed in a competition. All poets get three minutes per round to entertain and inspire the audience with their creativity.

The Mary D. Fisher Theatre is located at 2030 W. SR 89A, Suite A-3, in West Sedona. Tickets are $12. For tickets, call 282-1177 or visit SedonaFilmFestival.org.

The next poetry slam of the season will be held on Saturday, Jan. 13, featuring R.J. Walker, of Salt Lake City. Subsequent slams will be on Saturdays Feb. 3; March 9; April 13, featuring Briana Grace Hammerstrom of Portland. Ore., by way of Flagstaff, May 11 and finally on June 8.

The prize money is funded in part by a donation from Verde Valley poetry supporters Jeanne and Jim Freeland.

Email foxthepoet@yahoo.com to sign up early to compete or by the Friday before the slam or at the door the day of the slam. Poets who want to compete should purchase a ticket in case the roster is filled before they arrive. 

For more information, visit sedonafilmfestival.com or foxthepoet.blogspot.com. 

For a full list of slam poetry events in Arizona, visit azpoet.com.

What is Poetry Slam? 

Founded at the Green Mill Tavern in Chicago in 1984 by Marc Smith, poetry slam is a competitive artistic sport designed to get people who would otherwise never go to a poetry reading excited about the art form when it becomes a high-energy competition. Poetry slams are judged by five randomly chosen members of the audience who assign numerical value to individual poets' contents and performances.

Poetry slam has become an international artistic sport, with more than 100 major poetry slams in the United States, Canada, Australia and Western Europe. Slam poets have opened at the Winter Olympics, performed at the White House and at the United Nations General Assembly and were featured on "Russell Simmons' Def Poets" on HBO.

Sedona has sent four-poet teams to represent the city at the National Poetry Slam in Charlotte, N.C., Boston, Cambridge, Mass., Oakland, Calif., Decatur, Ga., Denver and Chicago.

"Lessons I Learned From Selena" by Gigi Bella, at Project X, Bronx N.Y.

"Lessons I Learned From Selena" by Gigi Bella, at Project X, Bronx N.Y.

https://www.SlamFind.com is a simple yet powerful platform for you to find live spoken word venues near you and watch slam poetry performance videos from around the world

Follow Gigi Bella at: @gigibellag

Filmed at Project X in Bronx NY: https://www.facebook.com/theBXproject/

"OCD" by Neil Hilborn

"OCD"

by Neil Hilborn

The first time I saw her,
Everything in my head went quiet.
All the ticks, all the constantly refreshing images just disappeared.
When you have Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, you don’t really get quiet moments.
Even in bed, I’m thinking:
Did I lock the doors? Yes.
Did I wash my hands? Yes.
Did I lock the doors? Yes.
Did I wash my hands? Yes.
But when I saw her, the only thing I could think about was the hairpin curve of her lips.
Or the eyelash on her cheek—
the eyelash on her cheek—
the eyelash on her cheek.
I knew I had to talk to her.
I asked her out six times in thirty seconds.
She said yes after the third one, but none of them felt right, so I had to keep going.
On our first date, I spent more time organizing my meal by color than I did eating it, or talking to her.
But she loved it.
She loved that I had to kiss her goodbye sixteen times or twenty-four times at different times of the day.
She loved that it took me forever to walk home because there are lots of cracks on our sidewalk.
When we moved in together, she said she felt safe, like no one would ever rob us because I definitely lock the door eighteen times.
I’d always watch her mouth when she talked—
when she talked—
when she talked—
when she talked;
when she said she loved me, her mouth would curl up at the edges.
At night, she’d lay in bed and watch me turn all the lights off.
And on, and off, and on, and off, and on, and off, and on, and off, and on, and off.
She’d close her eyes and imagine that the days and nights were passing in front of her.
But then.
She said I was taking up too much of her time.
That I couldn’t kiss her goodbye so much because I was making her late for work.
When she said she loved me, her mouth was a straight line. When I stopped in front of a crack in the sidewalk, she just kept walking.
And last week she started sleeping at her mother’s place.
She told me that she shouldn’t have let me get so attached to her; that this whole thing was a mistake, but.
How can it be a mistake that I don’t have to wash my hands after I touch her?
Love is not a mistake, and it’s killing me that she can run away from this and I just can’t.
I can’t go out and find someone new because I always think of her.
Usually, when I obsess over things, I see germs sneaking into my skin.
I see myself crushed by an endless succession of cars.
And she was the first beautiful thing I ever got stuck on.
I want to wake up every morning thinking about the way she holds her steering wheel.
How she turns shower knobs like she opening a safe.
How she blows out candles—
blows out candles—
blows out candles—
blows out candles—
blows out—
Now, I just think about who else is kissing her.
I can’t breathe because he only kisses her once -
He doesn’t care if it’s perfect!
I want her back so bad,
I leave the door unlocked.
I leave the lights on.

Neil Hilborn

Website | Instagram @neilicorn | Facebook @neilhilborn | Twitter @neilicorn

Get Neil’s book, THE FUTURE: http://bit.ly/neilfuture

Neil Hilborn is a College National Poetry Slam champion, and a 2011 graduate with honors from Macalester College with a degree in Creative Writing. He has two full-length collections of poetry: Our Numbered Days (Button Poetry, 2015) and The Future (Button Poetry, 2018). His chapbook, Clatter is also available.

Neil was a member of the 2011 Macalester Poetry Slam team, which ranked first in the nation at the 2011 College National Poetry Slam. He co-coached the 2012 Macalester team, leading them to a second place finish nationally. He was also a member of the Minneapolis adult National Poetry Slam team in 2011, which placed 5th out of 80 teams from cities across the country at the adult National Poetry Slam. He is the co-founder of Thistle, a Macalester literary magazine, and has run numerous writing workshops with college and high school students. His work has been featured in publications such as Borderline Magazine and Orange Quarterly.

"In Which I Do Not Fear Harvey Dent" by Brenna Twohy

 

"In Which I Do Not Fear Harvey Dent" by Brenna Twohy

Subscribe to Button: http://bit.ly/buttonpoetry

Get Brenna’s book, SWALLOWTAIL: http://bit.ly/brennaswallowtail

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About Button:

Button Poetry is committed to developing a coherent and effective system of production, distribution, promotion and fundraising for spoken word and performance poetry.

We seek to showcase the power and diversity of voices in our community. By encouraging and broadcasting the best and brightest performance poets of today, we hope to broaden poetry's audience, to expand its reach and develop a greater level of cultural appreciation for the art form.

Hanif Abdurraqib, poet and 2021 MacArthur Fellow

Hanif Abdurraqib is a poet, essayist, and cultural critic from Columbus, Ohio. His poetry has been published in Muzzle, Vinyl, PEN American, and various other journals. 

His essays and music criticism have been published in The FADER, Pitchfork, The New Yorker, and The New York 

Times. His first full length poetry collection, The Crown Ain't Worth Much, was released in June 2016 from Button Poetry. It was named a finalist for the Eric Hoffer Book Prize, and was nominated for a Hurston-Wright Legacy Award. With Big Lucks, he released a limited edition chapbook, Vintage Sadness, in summer 2017 (you cannot get it anymore and he is very sorry.) 

"All Of The Ways I've Kept Myself Alive"  by Hanif Abdurraqib

His first collection of essays, They Can't Kill Us Until They Kill Us, was released in winter 2017 by Two Dollar Radio and was named a book of the year by Buzzfeed, Esquire, NPR, Oprah Magazine, Paste, CBC, The Los Angeles Review, Pitchfork, and The Chicago Tribune, among others. 

His second collection of poems, A Fortune For Your Disaster, was released in 2019 by Tin House, and won the 2020 Lenore Marshall Prize. 

He released Go Ahead In The Rain: Notes To A Tribe Called Quest with University of Texas press in February 2019. The book became a New York Times Bestseller, was a finalist for the Kirkus Prize, and was longlisted for the National Book Award. 

In 2021, he released the book A Little Devil In America with Random House, which was a finalist for the National Book Award, the National Book Critics Circle Award, and the The PEN/Diamonstein-Spielvogel Award for the Art of the Essay. 

The book won the 2022 Andrew Carnegie Medal for Excellence in Nonfiction and the Gordon Burn Prize. Hanif is a graduate of Beechcroft High School.

"A Poem In Which No Black People Are Dead"
by Hanif Willis-Abdurraqib

Get Hanif's book, THE CROWN AIN'T WORTH MUCH: http://bit.ly/hanifcrown

"Some I Love Who are Dead" by Hanif Willis-Abdurraqib

Become a Member for exclusive perks and videos: https://bit.ly/ButtonMember

"Ok, I'm Finally Ready To Say Sorry For That One Summer" by Hanif Abdurraqib

Hanif Abdurraqib

Music Critic, Essayist, and Poet | Class of 2021

Forging a distinctive style of cultural and artistic criticism through the lens of popular music and autobiography.

 

Hanif Abdurraqib is a music critic, essayist, and poet using the lens of popular music to examine the broader culture that produces and consumes it. With an intimate and welcoming writing style that establishes an immediate connection with readers, he blends autobiography, social history, and keen insights into specific technical and emotional aspects of a song, an album, or a performance.

Many of the essays in Abdurraqib’s first collection, They Can’t Kill Us Until They Kill Us (2017), grew out of reviews and articles he wrote while a journalist; taken together, they form a deeply personal consideration of self-identity and the continued suffering inflicted on Black bodies at the hands of police and others. For example, he writes about attending a Bruce Springsteen concert days after visiting a memorial for Michael Brown in Ferguson, MO, and struggling to reconcile his technical appreciation of the music with the racialized and gendered stories told by the lyrics. In his book Go Ahead in the Rain: Notes to A Tribe Called Quest (2019), Abdurraqib traces the three-decade history of the pioneering hip-hop group and its impact within the larger hip-hop movement. He writes with clear affection for the group, and his assessment of the social and political atmosphere in which it operated includes reflections on how those same forces shaped his childhood and his experience of the music. Some sections are stylized as personal letters directed to members of the group, while others analyze its shifting aesthetic practices, such as how and why their wide-ranging use of sampling in early releases was later curtailed. Abdurraqib delves more deeply into historical research for his most recent book, A Little Devil in America: Notes in Praise of Black Performance (2021). His thought-provoking observations on key artists and cultural moments in music, film, dance, and comedy—ranging from William Henry Lane, a nineteenth-century minstrel dancer who performed for White audiences in blackface, to Beyoncé’s 2016 Super Bowl appearance and the dance and music television show Soul Train—form a focused analysis of Blackness and a celebration of Black identity. Abdurraqib uses particular events and personal experiences, such as a live performance by a Black punk band or reminiscences about Wu Tang Clan, to explore themes such as Black anger and the entertainment industry’s long history of exploiting and abusing Black artists.

In addition to his writing on music, Abdurraqib is a noted poet. Pop culture and music feature heavily in his poetry, which ranges across subjects both personal and public and addresses themes of race, class, and the politics of our present moment. Omnivorous in his influences and prolific in his output, Abdurraqib is forging a new form of cultural criticism, one that is informed by lived experience and offers incisive social and artistic critiques.

"At My First Punk Rock Show Ever" by Hanif Abdurraqib

performing at Camp Bar in Saint Paul, MN.

About Button Poetry:

Button Poetry is committed to developing a coherent and effective system of production, distribution, promotion and fundraising for spoken word and performance poetry.

We seek to showcase the power and diversity of voices in our community. By encouraging and broadcasting the best and brightest performance poets of today, we hope to broaden poetry's audience, to expand its reach and develop a greater level of cultural appreciation for the art form.

"It's A Lot" by Jon Sands

"It's A Lot" by Jon Sands

reading at Berl's Poetry Shop in Brooklyn, December 12th, 2018. 

Jon Sands is a winner of the 2018 National Poetry Series, selected for his second book, It's Not Magic (Beacon Press, 2019). He is also the author of The New Clean, and the co-host of The Poetry Gods Podcast. His work has been featured in the New York Times and anthologized in The Best American Poetry. He teaches a weekly writing workshop for adults at Bailey House in East Harlem (an HIV/AIDS service center), and has represented New York City multiple times at the National Poetry Slam. He lives in Brooklyn. 

Order Jon's book, It's Not Magic, winner of the 2018 National Poetry Series, here: 

Indiebound: https://bookshop.org/p/books/it-s-not-magic-jon-sands/8990766

Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Its-Not-Magic-Jon-Sands/dp/0807002259

Barnes & Noble: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/its-not-magic-jonathan-sands/1130068966

"Tryouts" (Motionpoems) by Gary Jackson

 Feb 12, 2018

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"Medulla Linguae" by Christopher Fox Graham

"Medulla Linguae" 

by Christopher Fox Graham

Da mihi stigmata

altius quam pellis

super ossa mea spina

super omnes vertebras

in omni lingua humana

Threicae eorum verbum pro "poetica"

ut nulla lingua amplius sentiat aliena;

ut quaelibet vox humana

potest loqui verbum in me

Sit arabica et hebraica

sit iuxta sine lapidibus

Sit Cantonese et Hindi characteribus

link manibus tenere Swahili et Hutu in tabernaculum unius noctis

Vasca et Zuluensis et tandem tactus labia Vietnamica

dum Navajo caput in humero Malaeiae reclinat

loquimur sex milia linguarum

sed dolorem tempusque patiar

nulla vox humana potest loqui ad me

quin filtrum

ad os

African syllabis fiat

spatium communicare cum articulationibus Europaeis;

Asian morphemes,

and Aboriginal pronunciations;

aciem et sculpes eos

sicut organicum barcode in Braille

readable vermibus qui aliquando convertunt me

ad religionem pulvis et cinis

ut semel crediderunt

ante hunc cultum carnis et sanguinis

nos de luto

ludere brevis characteres in pluvia

gustent saporem verborum nostrorum

deficiant poetica

et redde terram

sic terra potest sentire gravitatem verborum nostrorum

et ne obliviscaris nos

cum extincti sumus

sicut species ante nos

ultimum verbum scindendi

in codice morse

ad basis meae spina

ut i

in coxis Cum dormies

.--. --- . .-. -.--

sit dots et inliditque propagationem

per omnia ossa mea in virum comprehensionis

si vocem perdam

Non possum etiam dicere verbum

percussoque digitos meos;

terebat tympanum

aut mutantur ictum ictum meae pulsatio

loqui cum sanguine

imaginari

sex milia linguarum

ludens spina mea

in 33-part Concordia

concentus me

cum melodiam quod sonat

medulla spinalis meum

resonans in cuniculo et prolixius tendebatur

amplificandae compositionis musicam

omnia ut basis mea cerebri

ubi detonates

et resonat in medio cranii

ricocheting

sex milia noua

ad idem verbum

per voces sex billion cantores

in sex trillion cogitationes

donec capere non possum amplius chao

et cantus eorum explodit a labiis meis

offerens mundo

momento synchronised intellectus

unius carmen

unius vocis

unius viri

unius instant

ante mundum blinks

perdidit focus

et audit resonare

tardius deficiet

sed recordatus est

sonus

poeticae nostrae

"Wika ng Gulugod" by Christopher Fox Graham

"Wika ng Gulugod"

by Christopher Fox Graham

bigyan mo ako ng tattoo

mas malalim pa sa balat

sa buto ng aking gulugod

papunta sa ibabaw ng bawat vertebrae

sa bawat wika ng tao

tattoo ang kanilang salita para sa 

"tula"

upang walang wikang makadama ng banyaga;

upang ang bawat tinig ng tao

makapagsalita ng salita sa akin

hayaan ang Arabe at Hebreo

magkatabi sa upuan na hindi binabato

hayaan ang mga character na Cantonese at Hindi

mag link ng mga kamay upang hawakan ang Swahili at Hutu sa isang hammock

hayaan mo na lang si Basque at Zulu sa wakas na makahawak ng lips Vietnamese

habang ang Navajo ay nakasandal ang ulo nito sa balikat ng Malay

anim na libong wika ang ating sinasalita

Pero tiisin ko ang sakit at panahon

kaya walang boses ng tao ang makapagsasalita sa akin

nang hindi nadarama

pababa sa buto

hayaan ang mga syllables ng Africa

ibahagi ang espasyo sa European articulations,

Mga morpema ng Asya,

at mga pagbigkas ng mga Aboriginal,

pumila sila at mag ukit

tulad ng isang organic barcode na nakasulat sa Braille

mababasa ng mga uod na balang araw ay mag convert ako pabalik

sa relihiyong alabok at abo

na minsan ay naniwala tayo

bago ang kultong ito ng laman at dugo

inilabas kami mula sa putik

upang gumanap ng maikling tauhan sa ulan

hayaan mo silang tikman ang lasa ng ating mga salita

hayaan mo silang ubusin ang tula

at ibalik sa lupa

para maramdaman ng lupa ang bigat ng ating mga salita

at huwag mo kaming kalimutan

kapag tayo ay naglaho

tulad ng species sa harap natin

mag ukit ng huling salita

sa morse code

sa paanan ng aking gulugod

para marinig ko ang ritmo ng salita

sa balakang ko pag natutulog ako

.--. --- . - .-. -.--

hayaan ang mga tuldok at dashes kumalat

sa buong lahat ng aking mga buto sa isang virus ng pag unawa

Kaya kung mawala ang boses ko

Nakakapagsalita pa rin ako ng isang salita

sa pagtapik sa aking mga daliri,

kumakabog ng drum

o binabago ang ritmo ng tibok ng puso ko

upang magsalita sa aking dugo

imagine mo na lang

anim na libong wika

naglalaro ng aking gulugod

sa 33-bahaging pagkakasundo

paggawa ng symphony sa akin

may himig na nagbabanyuhay

up ang spinal cord ko

palakas ng palakas ang pag alingawngaw sa lagusan

amplifying ang compounding musika

hanggang sa base ng utak ko

saan ito nagpapasabog

at resonates sa loob ng bungo ko

ricocheting

anim na libong bagong ekspresyon

para sa iisang salita

sa tinig ng anim na bilyong mang aawit

sa anim na trilyong kaisipan ko

hanggang sa hindi ko na kayang tumagal ng gulo

at sumasabog ang kanta nila sa aking mga labi

pag aalay ng mundo

isang sandali ng synchronized na pag unawa

ng isang kanta

ng isang tinig

ng isang tao

para sa isang iglap

bago pa man dumilat ang mundo

nawawalan ng focus

at nakikinig sa echo

unti unti nang nalalabo

pero naaalala 

ang tunog 

ng ating mga tula

"মেরুদণ্ডের ভাষা" By Christopher Fox Graham

Photo courtesy of Sheikh Mehedi Morshed

"মেরুদণ্ডের ভাষা" 

By Christopher Fox Graham

আমাকে একটি ট্যাটু দাও
ত্বকের চেয়েও গভীর
আমার মেরুদণ্ডের হাড়ের উপর
প্রতিটি কশেরুকার পৃষ্ঠে
প্রতিটি মানুষের ভাষায়
ট্যাটু তাদের শব্দের জন্য 
'কবিতা'
যাতে কোনো ভাষাই আর বিদেশী মনে না হয়;
যাতে প্রতিটি মানুষের কণ্ঠস্বর
আমার মধ্যে একটি শব্দ বলতে পারে

আরবি এবং হিব্রু
পাথর নিক্ষেপ না করে পাশাপাশি বসুন
ক্যান্টোনিজ এবং হিন্দি অক্ষরগুলি ছেড়ে দিন
সোয়াহিলি এবং হুতুকে হ্যামকে ধরে রাখতে হাত সংযুক্ত করুন
বাস্ক এবং জুলুকে অবশেষে ঠোঁট স্পর্শ করতে দিন ভিয়েতনামী
যখন নাভাজো মালয়ের কাঁধে মাথা রাখে

আমরা ছয় হাজার ভাষায় কথা বলি
কিন্তু আমি ব্যথা এবং সময় সহ্য করব
সুতরাং কোনও মানুষের কণ্ঠ আমার সাথে কথা বলতে পারে না
অনুভব না করে
হাড়ের নীচে

আফ্রিকান অক্ষরগুলি লিখুন
ইউরোপীয় উচ্চারণের সাথে স্থান ভাগ করুন,
এশিয়ান মর্ফিম,
এবং আদিবাসী উচ্চারণ,

তাদের সারিবদ্ধ করুন এবং তাদের খোদাই করুন
যেমন ব্রেইলে লেখা একটি জৈব বারকোড
কৃমি দ্বারা পাঠযোগ্য যা একদিন আমাকে আবার রূপান্তরিত করবে
ধুলো ও ছাইয়ের ধর্ম
যা আমরা একসময় বিশ্বাস করেছিলাম
মাংস এবং রক্তের এই সম্প্রদায়ের আগে
কাদামাটি থেকে আমাদের বের করে এনেছি
বৃষ্টিতে সংক্ষিপ্ত চরিত্রে অভিনয় করা

তাদেরকে আমাদের শব্দের স্বাদ নিতে দিন
তাদের কবিতা খেতে দিন
এবং এটি মাটিতে ফিরিয়ে দিন
যাতে পৃথিবী আমাদের কথার ওজন অনুভব করতে পারে
এবং আমাদের ভুলে যেও না
যখন আমরা নিজেদের বিলুপ্ত করি
যেমন আমাদের সামনের প্রজাতি

শেষ কথাটি লিখুন
মোর্স কোডে
আমার মেরুদণ্ডের গোড়ায়
যাতে আমি শব্দের ছন্দ শুনতে পারি
আমি যখন ঘুমাই তখন আমার পোঁদে
.--. --- . - .-. -.--

বিন্দু এবং দাগ ছড়িয়ে দিন
বোঝার ভাইরাসে আমার সমস্ত হাড় জুড়ে
সুতরাং আমি যদি আমার কণ্ঠস্বর হারিয়ে ফেলি
আমি এখনও একটি শব্দ বলতে পারি
আমার আঙ্গুলগুলি ট্যাপ করে,
একটি ড্রাম বাজানো
অথবা আমার হৃদস্পন্দনের ছন্দ পরিবর্তন করা
আমার রক্ত দিয়ে কথা বলা

কল্পনা করুন

ছয় হাজার ভাষা
আমার মেরুদণ্ড খেলছে
৩৩-পর্বের সম্প্রীতিতে
আমার একটি সিম্ফনি তৈরি করা
একটি সুর যা প্রতিধ্বনিত হয়
আমার মেরুদণ্ডের উপরে
সুড়ঙ্গে আরও জোরে এবং জোরে প্রতিধ্বনিত হচ্ছে
যৌগিক সঙ্গীতকে প্রসারিত করা
আমার মস্তিষ্কের গোড়ায় সমস্ত পথ
যেখানে এটি বিস্ফোরিত হয়

এবং আমার মাথার খুলির ভিতরে প্রতিধ্বনিত হয়

ছয় হাজার নতুন অভিব্যক্তি

একই শব্দের জন্য
ছয় বিলিয়ন গায়কের কণ্ঠে
আমার ছয় ট্রিলিয়ন চিন্তার মধ্যে
যতক্ষণ না আমি আর বিশৃঙ্খলা সহ্য করতে পারি না
এবং তাদের গান আমার ঠোঁট থেকে বিস্ফোরিত হয়

বিশ্বকে অফার করা
সিঙ্ক্রোনাইজড বোঝার একটি মুহূর্ত
একটি গান
এক কন্ঠ
একজন মানুষ
এক মুহূর্তের জন্য
পৃথিবী চোখের পলক ফেলার আগে
ফোকাস হারায়
এবং প্রতিধ্বনি শোনে
ধীরে ধীরে ম্লান হয়ে যায়
কিন্তু মনে আছে 
আওয়াজ 

আমাদের কবিতা

"Merudander Bhasha"

By Christopher Fox Graham

amake ekti tattoo dao
toker cheyeo gabhir
amar merudander hader upper
protiti kasherukar prishthe
protiti manusher vashay
tattoo tader sobder jonno
'kabita'
jate kono vasha ar bideshi mane na hoy;
jate protiti manusher kanthaswar
amar modhye ekti shobdo bolte pare

arbi ebong hebrew
pathar nikshep na kare pashapashi basun
cantonese ebong hindi okkhorguli chede din
swahili ebong hutuke hamke dhore rakhte hat sanyukt karun
bask ebong juluke abosheshe thont sparsh karte din vietnami
jakhan navajo malayer kandhe matha rakhe

amra chhay hajar bhashay katha boli
kintu ami byatha ebong somoy sahya karab
sutaran kono manusher kontho amar sathe katha bolte pare na
anubhav na kare
hader niche

african okkhorguli likhun
europe uccharoner sathe sthan bhaag karun,
asian murphim,
ebong adivasi uccharon,

tader sariboddho karun ebong tader khodai karun
yeman brailey lekha ekti jaib barcode
krimi dwara pathyogya ya ekdin amake abar rupantarit karbe
dhulo o chair dharm
ya amra examoy biswas korechilam
mans ebong rokter ei sampradayer aage
kadamati theke amader ber kare enechi
brishtite sankhipto charitre abhinay kara

taderke amader sobder swad nite din
tader kobita khete din
ebong eti matite fire din
jate prithibi amader kathar ojon anubhav karate pare
ebong amader bhule jeo na
jakhan amra nijeder bilupto kori
yeman amader samner prajati

sesh kathati likhun
morse code
amar merudander goday
jate ami sobder chhondo shunte pari
ami jakhan ghumai takhan amar ponde
.--. --- . - .-. -.--
bindu ebong daag chadi din
bojhar viruse amar samast had jude
sutaran ami yadi amar kanthaswar hariye feli
ami ekhono ekti shobdo balte pari
amar angulguli tap kare,
ekti drum bajano
athaba amar hridaspandaner chhondo poriborton kora
amar rakta diye katha bala

kalpana karun

chhay hajar bhasha
amar merudanda khelche
e-porber sampritite
amar ekti symphony tairi kara
ekti sur ya pratidhwanito hoy
amar merudander upare
sudange aaro jore ebong jore pratidhwanito hachchhe
yogic sangitke prasarit kara
amar mostishker goday samast path
jekhane at bisforito hoy
ebong amar mathar khulir bhitare pratidhwanito hoy
chhay hajar natun abhibyakti
eki sobder jonno
chhoy billion gayker kanthe
amar chay trillion chintar modhye
yatakshan na ami ar bishrinkhala sahya karate pari na
ebong tader gaan amar thot theke bisforito hoy

biswake offer kara
synchronized bojhar ekti muhurt
ekti gaan
ek kantha
ekjon manush
ek muhurter jonno

prithibi chokher palak feller aage
focus haray
ebong pratidhwani shone
dhire dhire mlan hoye yay

kintu mone ache
awaz
amader kabita

"Мова Хребта" by Christopher Fox Graham

Потьомкінські сходи в Одесі, Україна

"Мова Хребта" 

by Christopher Fox Graham

Зробіть мені татуювання

глибше, ніж шкіра

на кістках мого хребта

на поверхню кожного хребця

на кожній людській мові

татуювання свого слова для 

"Поезія"

щоб жодна мова більше не відчувала себе іноземною;

щоб кожен людський голос

може сказати слово в мені

нехай арабська та іврит

сидіти поруч, не кидаючи каміння,

нехай кантонські та хінді символи

зв'язати руки, щоб тримати суахілі і хуту в гамаку

нехай баски і зулу нарешті торкнуться губ в'єтнамців

в той час як Навахо спирається головою на плече малайця

Ми говоримо шістьма тисячами мов

Але я перетерплю біль і час

Отже, жоден людський голос не може говорити зі мною

не відчуваючись

аж до кісток,

нехай африканські склади

розділити простір з європейськими артикуляціями,

азіатські морфеми,

і вимова аборигенів,

Вирівняйте їх і вигравіруйте

як органічний штрих-код, написаний шрифтом Брайля

читається хробаками, які одного разу навернуть мене назад

до релігії пилу і попелу

в що ми колись вірили

До цього культ плоті і крові

вивели нас з глини

грати коротких персонажів під дощем

Нехай вони відчують смак наших слів

Нехай споживають поезію

і віддати його назад в грунт

Так земля може відчути вагу наших слів

І не забувайте про нас

коли ми вимираємо самі

як види до нас

Вирізати останнє слово

азбукою Морзе

біля основи мого хребта

щоб я міг почути ритм слова

в стегнах, коли я сплю

.--. --- . - .-. -.--

Нехай крапки і тире розтікаються,

по всіх моїх кістках у вірусі розуміння

Отже, якщо я втрачу голос

Я все ще можу сказати слово

постукуючи пальцями,

стукання барабана,

або зміна ритму серцебиття

говорити моєю кров'ю

уявляти

шість тисяч мов

Гра в хребет

У 33-частинній гармонії

Створення симфонії про мене

з мелодією, яка відбивається

вгору по спинному мозку

все голосніше і голосніше лунає в тунелі

посилення складної музики

аж до основи мого мозку

де детонує

і резонує всередині мого черепа

рикошетинг

шість тисяч нових виразів

за одне і те ж слово

з голосами шести мільярдів співаків

в мої шість трильйонів думок

поки я більше не зможу прийняти хаос

І їхня пісня вибухає з моїх вуст

Пропонуючи світові

Момент синхронного розуміння

однієї пісні

в один голос

однієї людини

на одну мить

Перш ніж світ блимне

втрачає фокус,

і слухає відлуння

повільно згасають,

але пам'ятає 

Звук 

нашої поезії

"Mova Khrebta"

by Christopher Fox Graham

zrobit meni tatuyuvannya

gliebsche, nizh schkira

nah kistkach mogo khrebta

nah poverkhnyu kozhnogo khrebtsya

nah kozhniy ludski movy

tatuyuvannya svogo slova dlia

"poesia"

schob zodna mova bilse ne vidcuvala sebe inosemic;

schob kozhen ludski golos

mozhe skazati slovo vie meni

nechai arabic tha ivrit

siditi poruch, ne kidayuchi kaminnya,

nechai cantonese tha khindi symbol

zv'yazati ruki, schob trimati suakhili i khutu vie gamaku

nechai baski i zoulou naresti torknutsya goob vie'ethnamtsiv

vie toy chas iak navajo spirayetsya golovoyu nah plece malaytsia

mee govorimo shistma tisyachami mov

ale yo pereterplu biel i chas

otze, zhoden ludski golos ne mozhe govoriti zee mnoyu

ne vidcuvaiucis

age do kistok,

nechai africanism skladi

rozdiliti prostyre z evropeysky articulation,

asiaticus morphemi,

i vimova aborigeniv,

virivnaite ikh i vigraviruite

iak organic strich-code, napisany shriftom brile

chitayetsa khrobakami, yaki odnogo razo navernut mene nazad

do religia pilou i popelo

vie shcho mee kolis virili

do tsiogo kult ploti i krovi

vivelli nas z glini

grati korotkikh personage peed doshchem

nechai voni vidchuyut smak nashikh sliv

nechai spozhivayut poesiu

i viddati yogo nazad vie grunt

tak zemlya mozhe vidchuti vago nashikh sliv

i ne zabuvaite pro nas

colli mee vimirayemo sami

iak vidi do nas

virisati ostanne slovo

azbukoiu morse

bilya osnovi mogo khrebta

schob yo mig pochuti rhythm slova

vie stegnach, colli yo splyu

.--. --- . - .-. -.--

nechai krapki i tire roztikayutsya,

po vsikh moich kistkach ou virus rozuminnya

otze, yakshcho yo vtrachu golos

yo vse shche mozhu skazati slovo

postucuyuchi paltsyami,

stucande barabana,

abo zmina ritmu sertsebittya

govoriti moyeyu krov'yu

uyavlyati

shist tisiach mov

gra vie khrebet

ou 33-chastinny garmonia

stvorennya symphony pro mene

z melodieu, yaka vidbivayetsya

vgoru po spinnomo mozku

vse golosnisheh i golosnisheh lunaie vie tuneli

posilenia skladnoy music

age do osnovi mogo mozku

day detonue

i rezonouey vseredini mogo cherepa

ricoscheting

shist tisiach novikh viraziv

za audney i te zh slovo

z golosami sesti millardiv spivakiv

vie moi shist trilloniv dumok

pokey yo bilse ne zmozu priynaty khaos

i ikhnia pisnya vibukhayeh z moich voust

proponuuch svitovy

moment synchronic rozuminnya

odniei pisney

vie odin golos

odniei ludiny

nah odnu mit

persh nizh sveat blimne

vtrachaye focus,

i slukhayeh vidlunnya

povilno zgasayut,

ale pam'yataye

zvuk

nashoi poesia

"Ngôn Ngữ Cột Sống" by Christopher Fox Graham

Mặt trời chiếu lên ruộng bậc thang của những cánh đồng lúa ở phía tây bắc Việt Nam.

"Ngôn Ngữ Cột Sống" 

by Christopher Fox Graham

cho tôi một hình xăm

sâu hơn da

trên xương cột sống của tôi

lên bề mặt của mọi đốt sống

trong mỗi ngôn ngữ của con người

Hình xăm từ của họ cho 

"Thơ"

để không có ngôn ngữ nào cảm thấy xa lạ nữa;

để mỗi tiếng nói của con người

có thể nói một lời trong tôi

hãy để tiếng Ả Rập và tiếng Do Thái

Ngồi cạnh nhau mà không ném đá

cho phép các ký tự tiếng Quảng Đông và tiếng Hindi

chắp tay ôm Swahili và Hutu trên võng

để tiếng Basque và Zulu cuối cùng chạm môi người Việt

trong khi Navajo tựa đầu vào vai người Mã Lai

Chúng ta nói sáu ngàn tiếng lạ

Nhưng tôi sẽ chịu đựng nỗi đau và thời gian

Vì vậy, không có giọng nói của con người có thể nói chuyện với tôi

mà không được cảm nhận

xuống xương

hãy để âm tiết châu Phi

chia sẻ không gian với các khớp nối châu Âu,

Hình thái châu Á,

và cách phát âm của thổ dân,

xếp chúng lại và khắc chúng

như mã vạch hữu cơ được viết bằng chữ nổi Braille

Có thể đọc được bởi những con sâu mà một ngày nào đó sẽ chuyển đổi tôi trở lại

đến tôn giáo của bụi và tro

mà chúng tôi đã từng tin tưởng

trước sự sùng bái máu thịt này

đưa chúng tôi ra khỏi đất sét

để đóng các nhân vật ngắn trong mưa

Hãy để họ nếm thử hương vị của lời nói của chúng tôi

Hãy để họ tiêu thụ thơ

và đưa nó trở lại đất

để trái đất có thể cảm nhận được sức nặng của lời nói của chúng ta

và đừng quên chúng tôi

Khi chúng ta tuyệt chủng chính mình

Giống như các loài trước chúng ta

Khắc từ cuối cùng

Trong mã Morse

ở đáy cột sống của tôi

để tôi có thể nghe thấy nhịp điệu của từ

ở hông khi tôi ngủ

.--. --- . - .-. -.--

Hãy để các dấu chấm và dấu gạch ngang lan rộng

trên tất cả các xương của tôi trong một virus của sự hiểu biết

Vì vậy, nếu tôi bị mất giọng

Tôi vẫn có thể nói một từ

bằng cách gõ ngón tay của tôi,

đập trống

hoặc thay đổi nhịp tim của tôi

để nói chuyện với máu của tôi

tưởng tượng

sáu ngàn lưỡi

Chơi cột sống của tôi

trong 33 phần hài hòa

Làm một bản giao hưởng của tôi

với giai điệu vang dội

lên tủy sống của tôi

vang vọng ngày càng to trong đường hầm

khuếch đại âm nhạc ghép

tất cả các cách để nền tảng của bộ não của tôi

nơi nó phát nổ

và cộng hưởng bên trong hộp sọ của tôi

Ricocheting

Sáu ngàn biểu thức mới

cho cùng một từ

với giọng hát của sáu tỷ ca sĩ

vào sáu nghìn tỷ suy nghĩ của tôi

cho đến khi tôi không còn hỗn loạn nữa

Và bài hát của họ bùng nổ từ đôi môi của tôi

Cung cấp cho thế giới

Một khoảnh khắc của sự hiểu biết đồng bộ

của một bài hát

của một giọng nói

của một người đàn ông

trong một khoảnh khắc

Trước khi thế giới chớp mắt

mất tập trung

và lắng nghe tiếng vang

từ từ biến mất

Nhưng nhớ 

Âm thanh 

của thơ chúng ta

Sông Ngô Đồng và cánh đồng lúa ở Ninh Bình