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Promiscuously Autobiographical
“I’m promiscuously autobiographical, but it’s never gotten me into trouble.” Samuel R. Delaney, interviewed by The New Yorker Continue reading
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The Murdered Poet
After Lorcaand Neruda and some poemthat scrolled away on InstagramFor Renee Nicole GoodThe sun was orange, a burning tambourinewhen they gunned the poet Lorca downfar from Sacramonte. They could not killduende, that tremor in the earth beneath their feetsongs older than the Sultans or the Reconquista.His soul took flight like torn paper leaves, acrossall borders, Continue reading
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Hurray for the Red, White and True
On the occasion of Hitler’s attack on PolandTrump’s attack on Caracas and kidnappingof another country’s president and first ladyThe blue pills kill the back pain spasms from yogabut I’m awake. The ache moves from musclesinto the morning news like cancer run amok.We’re not sorry it’s spread to the mind andwhat we sometimes call the heart Continue reading
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Free Will and Wyrd
This is going to get deep. Reading about modern philosophy and neurobiology considering consciousness, it seems to be moving toward a consensus that meaning is something our brain imposes on a superficially mechanistic universe. If this is true, the the various ruling deities and their code of ethics spring from our forehead fully formed like Continue reading
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Motor Head
As a second Guinness spreads its dark blanketover a rough idling motor mind sucking fumesyou begin to understand heroin’s attractionfor artists with a similar redline turbine mindwhen Maxwell’s demon stokes the furnace boxto a dangerous boiling, release valve screaming. Continue reading
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Today A Child Is Born
For, Lo! today a child is born in the East and her name is Rachel and his name is Mohamed. Her name is Azra and his name is David. His name is Kibwe and her name is Ngozi. His name is Krishna and her name is Yasmin. Her name is Lian and his name is Continue reading
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It’s not enough to fall in love
It’s not enough to fall in love. You must learnto swim in it: in smooth and in rough, withor against the world’s current, in warm andin cold, in wind and in rain, in the Sun andunder the Moon, swim together untilyou reach the far side. Continue reading
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To defeat LLM AI Surveillance
We must underfuck the turnbuckles of authority and have lunch tomorrow at the usual placeholder pancake makeup sex or dinner at six and sevens and nines at the tortilla invasion replacement place the package and detonate dandelions if a fluff cloud of margaritas sound gang bang whang dang doodle 13 where chips are Free Mumia. Continue reading
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Holiday in Cyclothemia
Informally known as “BiPolar III” it is that disorder’s slightly less demented cousin and counts as “in remission.” April 31is International Surrealist Poetry Day!Celebrate with your favorite elephantsycophant. Read them a bowl a alphabet soup omitting the vowels. Watch them writhe with excitement in South Pacific musicalmescaline color! (Gonna wash that manright out of our Continue reading
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My Neighbors
The neighbor I want is the youngLatino couple who lived next doorto us on Toulouse Street almost20 years ago. The young man cameout and offered to change my tire.I said I’m not that old, I can do it.He came back with two Modelos and sat with me until I was done, ICE can Fuck right Continue reading
About Me
Mark Folse is a provincial diarist and aspiring minor poet from New Orleans. His past blogging adventures included the Katina/Federal Flood blog wetbankguide on blogspot.com which David Simon told NY Magazine was one of three blogs that helped inform Treme, and Toulouse Street–Odd Bits of Life in New Orleans, which once outranked the Doobie Brothers on Google Search. His work has appeared in The Dead Mule School of Southern Literature, The New Delta Review, Metazen, New Laurel Review, Ellipsis, What We Know: New Orleans as Home, Please Forward, The Maple Leaf Rag IV, and A Howling in the Wires (which he co-edited).
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Well Bottom Blues 