Freebird

No, not the dopey rock song that will forever be associated with Bic lighters, the Confederate flag, and swigging Jack Daniels straight from the bottle. And also not the pro wrestling tag team combo (which, come to think of it, will also forever be associated with Bic lighters, the Confederate flag, and swigging Jack Daniels straight from the bottle). I'm talking about Freebird Books & Goods, a very cool place where I attended an open mic this evening.

The joint is run by an alum of the New School's MFA Writing Program, and is very into the whole independent bookstore routine. They support local authors (as of tonight they are carrying my chapbook, It Will Be a Train), actually have a fairly extensive poetry section, and host all sorts of interesting writing and reading programs. I would love to do more readings there in the future.

It was a tiny crowd, six people in total - including me (though I did manage to sell a chapbook!). It felt more like a workshop than a reading, though there was no critiquing. I read the following poems from my chapbook: "There is Something to Be Said For Not Saying Something," "Poems About Death Are Really Poems About Love," "Death Comes in Flip-Flops," "On the Trail of the 'I'm a Little Teapot' Murderer," and "It Will Be a Train."

It finally occured to me that my poems are fairly death-obsessed. I wonder why I never noticed that before, even though other people have suggested this to me.