New arrangement & composition of 5 of my CD tracks

at myspace:

HERE

the page includes the poem/fusion/fablish thing published in Segue with music just composed by one of my brilliant collaborators, Mad Hatters'Review music editor Benjamin Rush Miller, aka Ben Miller. the music and audio are fantastic, as are the others. i hope to offer my revamped CD for sale during the AWP Conference, particularly at the KGB reading on February 1st.

SCIENCE AND THE CANDIDATES

Almost all of the major challenges we will face as a nation in this new century, from the environment, national security and economic competitiveness to energy strategies, have a scientific or technological basis. Can a president who is not comfortable thinking about science hope to lead instead of follow? Earlier Republican debates underscored this problem. In May, when candidates were asked if they believed in the theory of evolution, three candidates said no. In the next debate Mike Huckabee explained that he was running for president of the U.S., not writing the curriculum for an eighth-grade science book, and therefore the issue was unimportant.

SCIENCE AND THE CANDIDATES
By Lawrence M. Krauss

Gated Communities: the saga continues

Poem

I sat at the end of the road -- not my road, just one I had taken because it was the first that I found. There were no other roads in sight, only a rectangular piece of yellow paper pinned to a tree whose name I did not know. The piece of paper stated:

This is a poem:
neither the end of the road nor the beginning of all roads.

Curb your expectations!
This is only a piece of yellow paper
on which sits a poem about roads
of no consequence.

Ho hum, another poem about a road,
you think: tired poem, exhausted road,
eroded metaphor of stones
on which I bruise my feet.

Ho hum, the poem thinks:
Worn feet, stanzas on which I stumble. No rhyme. No reason.

Some insist
there is a sequence
to roads
if you can see it.

Others insist
there is a score,
but say you must be a scholar
of harmony, theory, and history
to understand
the movements
of notes.

Remember:
what you observe (is ripped
what you hear (is burned.

Find the player
to find the player.

The piece of paper was crisp and clean, as though it had been recently pinned to the tree. The letters were formed erotically with flourishes and curves. Was the poetic calligraphist saying that the poem was of no consequence or the road? If indeed this road was inconsequential, I simply had to imagine another and press on. And so I did. I turned left and saw the man in white nearing the top of a hill. He beckoned to me as he disappeared to distances beyond my sight.

I smell Barack Obama baloney

I smell Barack Obama baloney