Last summer, I read my poem "Pop" on Lame Town Review. The episode features several writers reading their work. It is a great mix of music and spoken word, with cricket chirps, dog barks and other neighborhood noises infiltrating the backyard studio. You can listen to it here.
But if your ears are full and you would rather use your eyes:
her hat doesn’t fit.
the knit shrunk on hot wash.
wool now boiled into a cap
that won’t even suit a Magpie.
she pulls it off her head.
suddenly. cool air picks up
hair like each strand is a string
of a kite now dancing with static
electricity and gnosis.
that sweaty wad of knotted yarn
is no longer able to top
the dreams and visions popping
like castanets. clicking and ricocheting
over interior symmetry with poetic
the distillation of cosmos
into cranium. congestion.
yank the wires from the connections.
chaos and haywire. knocking on
the empty noggin.
the sound rumbles like a djembe deep
in the voracious night.