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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!


Americana art books poetry punk religion rituals science sociology Southern Gothic theatre travel Uncategorized Urban Legends war writing


You are cordially invited to attend




featuring poets

Verless Doran – Alicia Young – Justin Booth

JANUARY 9, 2015



by the grace and courtesy of  Puma Perl

327 Bowery New York, New York 10003



 How can the devil not be in a man who is always including him in his conversation?


Americana literature theatre travel


the first poem

to ever boom from my lips

in a public place

shattered window glass

of the warehouse bar and theatre

onto the rooftops of

hipster microbreweries

in brooklyn


for a moment the cops

stopped searching every brown

man, woman, and child on the street

to listen to a mad woman explain

how daddy is the word for god

to a little girl


bright lights, big city

and a southern cry so loud

the king’s bones stirred in his tomb

at graceland

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

you should see it, dad

you should see it, dad
the way they laugh, scream, and cry
they stand on their chairs
and applaud for me
as i kick out the footlights
setting the stage on fire
all indian blood
love and rage
you’d be so kentucky man proud of me

Jazz Music poetry Short Stories Uncategorized Urban Legends

stars of the evening

they sat mesmerized
in the holy sanctuary
of a bombed out church
turned bohemian coffee house
watching me
stand back from the microphone
so as not to make their ears bleed
with the tent revival tone of my voice
my words did that job instead
as black diamond costume jewelry
wild turkey cork
and sweaty poems
were cast by my fiery hands
toward blackened clouds
ceiling smashing
into the crowd
and kept
my luminous finishing facial powder
had snow fallen onto my cleavage
making my titties the unexpected
stars of the evening
little black dress
uncooperative fishnets
a donor bought all the performers their seats
a robin came forward to admit
we share a place of commonwealth birth
someone lifted my proof
of the first book i ever wrote
thank you
for caring enough
to steal me

Jazz Music poetry Short Stories Uncategorized Urban Legends

exit 229, just off I-80

i burned the tainted toys
who inhabited
the sick room
of our children

my hands
tore to shreds
the print of picasso’s
as the clash played spanish bombs

i no longer care to remember the war

all the dead tea bags
are in wednesday night’s garbage

the european coffee cans
became coffins for pets
buried in the ground

all that remains of us
is the occasional wince
of lingering poetry

i’m traveling north
to perform at a university
in our
half way point city

but no matter
screaming signals
broadcast through white noise

i won’t

be making a right


poetry Short Stories Uncategorized

short film

my thursday night feet followed
the silver and yellow chalk planets
down the cement milky way
leading to the comet

invitation sent by a fellow poet professor greek orthodox buddhist
and lover of merry pranksters

i am happy to be in the neighborhood where my brother lived and died

a skateboard flying shirtless little boy
says pardon me m’am as he carefully
passes me by smiling
i thank him for his manners
and observe the angel above his head wink its watchful eye

all before i float inside
this gloriously dingy bar
northside charm
juke box and appalachian pop art
served with coronas
war ship burritos
and ginger salsa

he carries two dollar bills
in his money clip
that have swum
in the aegean sea
within the last century

the pink neon filtering in the window
through stained glass and punk show flyers
i forget we are not in paris
as he shows me the world he has painted
on the tips of his fingers

i notice his command of the color

he smiles van gogh
as i admire both his ears

accounts settled
we make our way to the gallery
next door for the reading

the monty python painting
hung by the minister of funny art
on the wall beside me
is entitled unforeseen and unrealized day

photos of village saints
spotlight enshrined
beside gasoline tinged americana
and craftsmen tool boxes

women with androgynous clothes
oddly shaped haircuts
and vintage jewelry
too much or too little tit
never the tween shall meet
don’t applaud until the end
this is a conservative town
even in a sweltering room full of liberals

the silly puddy men are soft
so thin and yoga pliable
fresh from assembling something with a swedish name
from ikea
strategically ripped jeans
and designer frames that match their tattoos
they would all be in latte covered scarves
were it not for the augustine heat

the first performer reads of soldier fetish
loves who will not be lost despite missing limbs and lives

i am craving skin as

the last man immolated himself
for the cause of shakespeare
and ending the war

in this theatre
that is the world of poetry

i thank my friend for the lovely night
with a hug
and a
you’re so tall
bend down to kiss my cheek

before disappearing
into the sidewalk stars
on hamilton avenue