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New from Leaky Boot Press: Fried Chicken, Schmussy, and Other Songs From a Baptist Hymal by Alicia Young


To Order:


(Ships free from the United Kingdom to any location in the world!)

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2,202 miles

i am 2,202 miles


from where my twin sons

rest their ash blonde heads

at night


and while los angeles

has been


gracious to me

i would trade the vast pacific ocean

for the cobalt blue

of their eyes


( mama misses you, darling boys, I love you both…more than the sky)

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Third Friday Salon @ The Rapp Saloon 12.19.14 Santa Monica, California

You are cordially invited to attend the

Third Friday Salon @ The Rapp Saloon


Alicia Young


Alexis Rhone Fancher

Music by: Daniela Podobea, Tom Gramlich, Guido the Bass Player, Jean-Louis Boudreau,

and Derf Reklaw

December 19, 2014

8:30 pm

1436 2cd Street Santa Monica, California, 90401

presented by the beautiful and gracious Elena Secota


Women will swoon.

Men will beg.

The poetry will drip from our lips like honey.

Music will soothe us.

Arias will propel our souls to heaven

Gods shall weep.

Bass strings will be plucked.

Enchantment shall be the order of the night.

And plenty of snappy dressers!


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the year i carried a copy of ferlinghetti’s book poetry as insurgent art like a pentecostal carries and twists their bible

i saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by
thoughts of kissing me
sleep on disreputable futons
show up at hotel room doors

just about the time
one of my gods said
i was coming close to my

but i’m nowhere in proximity
upping the ante is perhaps required
my addictions too mitigated by motherhood
and the yolk of practicality

i’m not lesbian enough
i’m not disenfranchised
i’ve never been to france
i’ve never given anyone a hand job for a grant
ted hughes has not yet abandoned me

Jazz Music poetry Short Stories Uncategorized Urban Legends writing

fleeting comforts

he would see to it
i had what i needed
when i got to california
no matter where the gig
whatever i wanted
he was my prince
and champion

he knew exactly how to balance me
drunk and in heels
on his hip
arm around my waist
sweeping me away gracefully
at the end of a night
when the mariachi band had begun to spin
around my head

no matter what we were pulling off
we were better at it together

he’d throw three large on the table
see to it i had my purse
schmooze the goodbyes
play us off as ricky and lucy
through sobriety checkpoints lights
get me back to my hotel bed safe
unmolested (if i so desired)
tucked in

i miss him on nights
temporary highs
and fleeting comforts
would be enough

Jazz Music poetry Short Stories Uncategorized Urban Legends writing

finger fuck

finger fuck

when i went to los angeles
for my first book release party

my so-called literary agent
tried to stick his hand up my skirt to finger fuck me
and his tongue down my throat
simultaneously in a booth
at jerry’s deli

right across the street from cedars sinai hospital
where his wife was in labor with their son

our waitress pretended that wasn’t the reason
she dropped an egg salad platter as i fought him off me

i had never met him in person before
and naively thought he was lude on the phone with me
because he was living up to some
slick LA expectation

after refusing to see him alone after that initial trip
he waged a war against me
slamming my book on amazon and good reads
creating false facebook profiles
with which he could terrorize and slander me

then three months later i found out
he was being sent to federal prison for three years
for sexual deviance and a parole violation

his mentor and a godfather of outlaw poetry
asked me to keep quiet about what he did to me
so he wouldn’t lose on a 50,000 bail bond he had posted for the reprobate

when he gets out of prison in october of 2015
i expect he’ll once again begin to terrorize me

but i’ll live through it

i’ve survived better monsters than he

good thing it turned out to be a helluva book

i’m writing this to shield myself
from his forthcoming flying debris

he is not allowed to continue to hurt me

that was my first experience with
the literary scene

Jazz Music poetry Short Stories Uncategorized Urban Legends


of course

i have a crush on you

why deny the obvious

we poets are all in love with each other

and i remember the whore
leaning against a streetlight in los angeles

saying the world is poly-amorous

Jazz Music poetry Short Stories Uncategorized Urban Legends


my priority was silence

after being weighed
and cavity searched
by tsa agents

i just wanted to find a quiet chair near my gate
within the noisy LAX terminal

preferably a dark corner
with no other passengers within twenty feet

lacking over-molested copies of the LA Times
and the pink sugary crumbs
of well traveled two year olds

ah, there it was
my weary feet and rolling carry-on
made their way toward flight deck utopia

a rounded blue row of seating
right by the tinted night windows

my eyes were swollen from crying
i didn’t want to leave the city
or the love i had come to find there

unable to read, think, have a smoke or a drink
all i had at that moment
was a peaceful spot
in the airport
before my red eye back home

that’s when he walked over
disturbing my solitary meditation

a learned looking man
accompanied by a worn brown leather miami university attache

i suspect he felt safer near a fellow buckeye
smiling as he read my sweatshirt
which reads
college of mortuary science cincinnati

he asked if he could sit
certainly i replied
this area is annexed for Ohio

we exchanged life stories

24 hours he had been on a layover
in Los Angeles
on his way back from China

he said he was a professor

who had been sent there
to teach the chinese
how to slowly kill
the American economy

the exquisite irony
wasn’t lost on me

because he was positively green
his skin gray
eyes glassy
silvery hair dusted black
from breathing particulate from coal plants
and suicide net surrounded factories
floating in the Beijing air for the past three weeks

his shaking hands
pulled out a stash of respirator masks
still in his pocket

the sight horrified me

it was the first time i realized that all was lost

the human race is near extinction

that inconvenient truths are
merely the tip of a melted iceberg
given the reality of irreversible damage


i got up and threw away
the remainder of my give-a-fuck
hearing the girl from ipanema went walking

now boarding boomed

as i traipsed down the ramp to the tin can
not caring as much if it safely landed

full of the knowledge

we’re building cell phone towers
on the corpse of a planet

Jazz Music poetry Short Stories Uncategorized Urban Legends


i lit a stick from the stash
of incense you sent me

the exotic pricey shit from bangalore
that saul got you addicted to

funky smell good we drove around looking for in every head shop and bodega
from hollywood to santa monica

it’s been so long since i’ve burned any
knowing you would surround me

that i would be engulfed
by a rising tide of anguish
if i breathed your air

like the back of the box says,
“Padmini Perfumed Dhoop Sticks with fragrance that lingers on and on…”

it is you who lingers on and on…

i want to believe there are a few hotel rooms
in los angeles
that still smell like we just checked out
an hour ago

hoping our ghosts
cling to walls and drapes
in the biltmore

places left behind that retain the scent of smoke
of two people who lived deliberately
and fell in love there

Jazz Music poetry Short Stories Uncategorized Urban Legends

he hides his wings

we sat on the couch
beneath an original bukowski painting
beside a bronze bust of the dirty man
smoking legal chap books
listening to hot water music
drinking ancient scotch
the proximity
of kentucky to tennessee

poetry bombs
fell from the sky
as the king revealed his affliction

a rareness we share

one we have both passed on to our sons
our naivete
mechanical worlds
tin voices
the weight of meaningless gold

we wept into words
missing lovers
fathers and librarians

thai food
offers of shelter and safe harbor
given with
a father’s worried come-home-soon eyes

as we walked onto the patio
to say goodnight to the hollywood sign
and tuck in
the xenias and tomatoes

you cut your hand

wrote your words with
blood red

inside the bible
you had long ago given me

“All criminals are outlaws, but not all outlaws are criminals.”

that’s when i realized
you were the most beautiful thing
about california