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When Reb Livingston saw Joe Hall’s Poetry Road she wasn’t impressed. Wasn’t impressed at all. Hell, she told me, more shit goes on in my Poetry Home (where I’m working on my novel, Bombyonder) than all that stupid-ketchup-&-knives, “Poetry Schmoetry Road” bullshit. And so Reb and I did a little interview and photo shoot (her husband, aka “man-meat,” took the shots. Poor devil!).
And the rule, again, fyi, for the interview was that Reb could only answer with language from Bombyonder– samples here and here.
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Besides Beyonce’s “All the Single Ladies,” Madonna’s “Like a Virgin” and the entire Bette Midler canon, what sort of music and sound things or voices have you been listening to in the ol’ lonesome Poetry Home??
Songs on the fly
The unconscious lizard
A zipper up his ass
Silently managed
Mice crammed into books
The offspring’s first meal
A dead bird blasted
Someone’s dick
Is breaking
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When Chris (yr monogamous partner of a long, long time) is out of town how do you deal with the physical loneliness and strange arousals of an empty, abandoned Poetry Home (all the bible salesmen, mermen, mail men, athletes, pool boys, James Francos, Nicolas Cages (ahem), hunks, man-sluts, etc, etc, yawn) ??
Snickering like dragons
Hands pawing, probing my privates
Scared, vile and leaking




Triumph of the Ape


A Ring of Sunshine Around the Moon
The Blue Book