-
The Chase Light Calliope Fun House of Madness
The medication for REM sleep disorder, what leads me to occasionally smack Patrice with my left arm as I reach out to catch a baseball or assume yoga positions while asleep, foregrounds my amazing Technicolor dreamscape which I jokingly refer to as the Chase Light Calliope Fun House of Madness. It is overriding another medication… Continue reading
-
Why Not A Dryad?
Why a water nymphin this featured fountainand not a dryad in this colonnade of bearded oaks old as Moses?There are pools in the wood.Just ask Acteaon. Continue reading
-
Museum of the Broken Heart
Apologies to Andy YoungYour poems. of course, are brilliantMy star, right now, is not Trying to read another’s grief fine lines on dull paper through the fog the smoke of a nation in flames I think instead I’ll gather up all my Everett Maddox to read by the sports TV light at the bar around… Continue reading
-
The Agency of Chaos
A. I would not be here if I had not started my medication. B. I would not be here if I hadn’t stopped my medication. Both things are true. (Pages of examples, good and bad.) Continue reading
-
Enemy of the Wrong People
I’ve never requested my FBI file but I’m pretty sure it goes back over 50 years to my freshman year in high school. Our service class was a comparison between the US and Soviet system. And there was a model UN. I was assigned Taiwan, and decided instead in 1971 to represent the People’s Republic… Continue reading
-
Don’t Look Away
“To be an artist means never to avert one’s eyes.” ~ Akira Kurosawa Most of the visual artists I know are attuned to beauty. The innocence of childhood very deep inside will always be fascinated by a flower. The market has something to say about this. Tourists browsing Jackson Square do not come here for… Continue reading
-
A thousand tambourines of crystal
“If you ask me why I wrote ‘A thousand tambourines of crystal, wounded the light of daybreak’ I will tell you that I saw them in the hands of trees and angels, but I cannot say more: I cannot explain their meaning. And that is how it should be. Through poetry a man more quickly… Continue reading
-
Calf Foot Blues
Daube marrowboiling in thispot black, hissinggas ring hot night,a slow reduction tothe elemental inthe fan-stirredsimmer of thisgelatin evening. Originally published in The Dead Mule of Southern Literature. Continue reading
-
Apocalypse No. 1
The government radio somewhere behind me warbles its emergency signal like tortured locusts, announcing blood rain. I have coffee and whiskey and cigarettes enough, water and canned rations aplenty. Here on the dissolving horizon of the continent, abandoned by progress, we understand how to do apocalypse properly. I ignore the robotic voice which will outlast… 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, Trampoline, Unlikely Stories, Peauxdunque Review, LMNL Anthology, 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).
.
Well Bottom Blues 