Now available from Snake Nation Press.

Sample poem:


Ananaya of the Brown Nipples 
is trying to sweep up a spare,
my mate in line behind her. 
Others chat in the darklight 
of candles and campfires, 
but I’m too queasy for small-talk;
I’ve been over-served again. 
I’m overwhelmed of the senses--
preponderance of flesh, 
reek of patchouli and cannabis, 
competing beats of drum circles. 
Open-air showers, a communal 
kitchen: I’m tired of dirty
fingernails, greasy scalps, 
unchecked pheromonal ooze; 
tired of this weekend 
of musical gender-bending 
and letting-it-all-hang-
out-ness; and tired, too, 
of this game they’ve made 
of paneling, pins, 
and bales of hay, played 
sans sarong. It brings to mind 
my father’s famous costume soirees--
any excuse to don a diaper 
or a hula skirt, scant enough between 
his particular urges 
and any woman not my mother. 
Well, who but I would drag out 
the rags of her childhood 
during naked competition? 
Who, but I, wearing a mere scrap 
of fabric, knotted at the hip.



mamoo said...


Kathy said...

Congratulations!!! Can't wait to order mine. I love this poem. It brings back lots of memories - both good and bad.

Did I tell you how one of Randy's co-workers described patchouli to another co-worker who didn't know what it was? Hippee in a bottle.

alissa said...

Your words take me right back to the Clermont Lounge. Congratulations!!!

christine said...

Wow, what a poem. I love to be surprised, and this poem does just that. I'm ordering a copy tomorrow. Congratulations! Callanwolde in March, right?

Collin Kelley said...


ButtonHole said...

I ordered my copy! Hopefully I'll be able to get you to sign it one day.

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