February 13-19, 2012: Alex Stolis and Lee Evans

week of February 13-19, 2012

Alex Stolis and Lee Evans

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Alex Stolis
alex.stolis95@gmail.com

Bio (auto)

Alex lives in Minneapolis.

The following work is Copyright © 2012, and owned by Alex Stolis and may not be distributed or reprinted in any form whatsoever without written permission from the author.


From an iPod found in Canal Park;
Duluth, MN July 2010


Shuffle

6AM Hot love; T Rex: the furnace hasn’t kicked in yet. 1978, laying in the backseat
with a girl I just met; on our way to the hospital. Today it would be called active
suicide ideation with plan & intent.

7:02AM Where have all the good times gone; Van Halen: sent an email to her. No,
not her, the other one; the one who throws little bombs. Scar on her back. 1982, Felicia,
dyed red hair and motorcycle boots. She wanted to fuck. I couldn’t remember her name.

8:45AM Space [I believe]; Pixies: I check mail, change the radio station, turn the radio
off, check mail, turn the radio back on. 2012, smoke willows between the clouds; grey
roots of a forlorn and empty heaven.

Playlists

Dylan/Waits/Cave: remember the Arena; kids, a line of blue smoke, waiting
to be messiah-ed. You take my hand. Tell me that, for years, you played piano;
never mention how easy it is to lose balance on water.

Exiled: Mesabi Avenue was impassable in winter; rear-wheeled tanks slide
stuck and we bombed our way top to bottom. The lift bridge chops the lake
in two a dozen times a day; manmade rain shiny on the hoods of cars.

Radio K: We are cursed to wanting; winter to spring to summer to fall
to east to the wrong side of the tracks. The wind cracks 24/7, a barista
smiles, waits for my order; I hear the short quick snap of a pop top.

Artists

Modern English: I was 17, she was 16, dirty blonde hair; a prostitute. I didn’t believe
in god then either. You lie next to me, curled in a dream; I am nothing more than your
skin, a light that changes color with your every breath.

Ray LaMontagne: downtown Duluth: Glass Blocks, Musicland’s, pre-porn NorShor
Theater; we huddled in cigarette shelters, bored on borrowed time. Let’s find a little
place on Park Point that has enough room to paint the lake forever.

Tokyo Jihen: You put your hand in my back pocket; the future, like heaven, exists
only for those who can’t live in the present. There is only this: bare limbs, the dust
of feathers, your trigger finger in the small of my back.



Lee Evans
alebap@myfairpoint.net

Bio (auto)

Lee Evans is a Marylander transplanted to Bath, Maine. He has done various things in his life, most of which he has forgotten. However, he is sometimes able to answer specific questions, when sufficietly prodded.

The following work is Copyright © 2012, and owned by Lee Evans and may not be distributed or reprinted in any form whatsoever without written permission from the author.

Remembrance Day

Death trembles through the air
Home from Iraq and Afghanistan.
The bell in the gazebo tolls
Five hundred breathless names.

Incompletely Gone

Cat coughed, shuddered
Stretched on floor by window
Snow flurries

Caress of my hand
Unseen her life force relapsed
Into the future

Three days ago
She followed me through the house
Today she is ashes