number 4 mosquitoes drinking didy. >> drink every hour next up this hour and every hour after. was born in the river there is enough to go around. drink every hour on the hour and every hour after. in the river there is enough to go around. drink every hour. there is enough to go around. drink every hour and every hour after. go to the river there is enough to go around. drink up the hours and every after burned down by the river -- drink air land is here for after survivors go around they are enough. [applause] >> flood song 8 stray dogs

duet. >> the every i learned. food. for the good. love. your hand smiled with me. you wanted me to understand you with -- my teeth. hunger seemed the only -- tongue we shared. the sky -- opened. closed it's door. the sky -- opens, closes it's door. the sky -- hunger seems the only master. no, we both understand something like love. good doggie, good doggie what i

do now. [applause] >> now you can feed pigeons and they know to go there to get food. sharks follow the ships because if you have humans packed and one gets sick you have to get rid of the sick one so it doesn't get the others sick you 3 them over board and the sharks follow. slim chance for [inaudible] it samples parliament, little mermaid. ts eljot and robert haden. >> never learned to swim. but we sure can dive. over million ships -- over million ship. iowa woo. let your fish bones live old

man. let your fish bones before man. make a wish the black fish there is company coming, coming. hammer heads ham or head until hammer fed company knocking. great white shark. great white georgia no, no. they company dining, dining. [inaudible] can't remember, can't remember. there is company [inaudible]. and all know was a dark room cloud and gullets filled with [inaudible]. cattle, chattel, channel of the deep blue. see all about that dark moon cloud and the gullets full of water and slaughter. assault, assault oh , channel of the deep blue sea. sure no one will see.

just look out the world around you right here on the ocean floor. such wonderful things around you what more is you looking for. rag ed claws scuffling across the seas. tell be thin, fine, attention nigger mermaids, chains like hooks and sifrpgs are didy don't bleed into the sea the stains won't watch out we ain't responsible for your mess. the management. there is company, can't remember. there is company. the stains will not wash out. [applause] >> he wasn't dragged death in a quick casual way. they had fun with his body they chained him to the back of the

car did fish tails. forensic evidence suggests his body came lose and some of the men confessed and rechained him after rolling back over him to get him. most of us heard about this tragedy. something we don't hear is because dragged to death we assume he was dragged like this. see that way chained to the truck it's not true. he was not dragged like that he was dragged like this. chained the back of the truck watching the road behind him. this poem is called big thicket jasper, texas. a crack is a buck shot. big thickel. crack, headlights staggering home. the road kills. crack, big thicket. the sticks, drink, drink,

headlight stagger in the road. creek, crack, stick broke light kills. big thickel. buck shot by the white headlights to big thicket. what you looking at. crack, the white stick big thicket along the trees. the buck is staggering home. crack, we go to big thicket what you are doing here. break for home. on the road, go, go, crack, crack, crack, big thicket. headlights what you think you are. huff, is this, critic o crack, a stick broke. buck in the brushes. put them back on. what you think. in the rushes. put them back o. big thicket we go to creek. go to head staggers along the trees. crack, a stick broke the creek breaks big thicket we go, buck

shot, home we go, go, big thicket. road kill. staggering bucks. headlight rushes. screeching. road screeching, what you what you. we go, we go. crack. bones. road kills a broke stick along the staggering creek we go on. [applause] >> i will close with a poem from the book it's live evil. a name of a miles davis album we know that miles davis abused his wife. physically. pearl initially had mad at miles the reason this poem exist system because of that esan and the epigraphs that will ground it some more. quote, miles was guilt of self

confessed violet crimes against women we should break his records and burn his cd's until he apologizes. the trumpet's mouth is apology. you just write a poem about your need to do that a madual johnson. all right. live people. the pins point come downs on the butter fly. the knuckle come down on ms. sisly. the mallet come down on the cd case. wait! the mallet come down on the butter fly. the pins point come down on the ms. sisly. the knuckle come down on the cd case. wait! >> the knuckle come down on the

buttir fly. the pins point come down on the cd case. dammit. the butter fly, ms. sisly the cd case. the roses rips at the spit much the phoenix dazzling petals births something. the martir's smile that saves something. what did we make? listen to the butter fly, the pinpoint makes no sound sticking the [inaudible] no brass wail to the air here it's silent as a necktie this is not right. ms. sisly a cd case and a pin striped suit did he stick her lips red. i don't know, i don't know. sometimes he wore a pin striped 3 piece and a dazzling tie. i have a mallet did he kiss her.

lips red. did he stick her with a pins point much listen to the brass ware and butter fly the plastic and silence breaks. this is a man thinking he can build with a mallet. a martir with knuckles. this it is a man who through out the notes. wait. dammit, ms. sisly why won't you listen to the man who writes lynches. he had a mallet and the oils in the hands cripple the butter fly won't fly again so butter wait. butter stay. butter still. what have we made that awakes. stay still. listen to the song of a man in his sleeping shell. it come down it come down.

the pinpoint, the knuckle, the mallet. wait a bit. no birthing. no saving. no feeding. dammit! >> listen to the song of a man who makes what have we made? thank you. [applause]

good even and welcome. jack hirschman. he has been a poet in san francisco from 2006. his powerful voice set the tone, his latest book, "all

that's left". >> my voice is a little untuned. very simply so they are not any question of anxiety or worry. on march 14th, i decided to take an operation on my carotted artery and therefore. i don't want to go out by a stroke. i would rather go out another way. the operation was perfectly senseful. there wasn't pain. they put a tube down your throat. so i lost my voice for a month or 2.

therefore, i ask your indulgence. i will read in this voice, if you don't mind. i am very pleased this book came out. i am going to read with the war. the war drug on. die after die. so shares and shout so jibes, nor many a steer of so cult

exist and jams, juice, gins over in his tomb. tears over borrowed good as well. and future is dust and smothering. the war i rock is a masked, sad gem stone of war kings and people. and fear must without heaven, over a toga pot. that's import that war boil. that's bile that gag or jail

roomy and oath and the war is cocked. air and fuel the plague and watch him of his hunter of ash guard down the stinking hole. they were shacked up from to be done. >> [applause]. >> this house of hunger, for the american kids who go to sleep each night without supper. this house of hunger has millions of kids in it. breakfast and lunch is all their worth. famished of billions of bucks

in them. what pretty prophets have set before king's death. they stink with the stench of unmitigated treaty. their indifference included in their digital speeds. while those kids lie in bed without a cup of bullion in their head. also kill the children, american you shootful. and the murders you plant in your own backyard. keep insisting your democracy. but in the starving darkness, those sad, lost eyes know the truths of your lies that you

sold all the marbles in their little sacks to the bullies who applaud because they won't give them back. you have stolen the bread that cried from their mouths and turned it into dirty dough. when finally they manage to fall asleep, their dreams cause you the haunted house. the spell of the sun to burn you down so that greeds flee and steal the good things for hungry little bellies to eat. between the page, with the

heart and the mind, wrestling upon it. and the year which later will receive those limbs of light as perfect harmony. there's a stillness who's volume speaks word of words defiant. treasures of the unstable. secrets of the heavy enchantment and the never ending gathering at the lips of the kiss of poem. now, >> [applause]. >> now, i understand them

causing an enormous amount of anguish of my voice. i brought my girlfriend. she is going to read 3 poems to you so you get another dimention of my voice. please welcome, agnes ford >> the house of the setting sun. the comrade again and the poorist way wave you. to the red flag. i put my mount to your misery new orleans. here, war lies piles so high. this floating prison of a

cementary cries of range. this delta lies on its side. rows and rows upon it's own government and crushed. summertime is over and the living is dead. and around midnight all hopes are looted. no one will ever come clean of the katrina of the new orleans and the stinking house of the setting sun. but it's the black and the blue of the loving on the shoes, let alone a dime or water, america, you are always scotched earth

in our mouth. always a rain of disaster of streams of our broken eyes. now the rags are the most turn. our pores the poorest that can be worn in the souls shop. now that all is lost and there is only nothing to lose. long live the courage and the poor. they begin to waiver. [applause]. >> vennetia. i was enranged at your body

enettia. chicanery that cried out of an awfulor gast. slowly i found you should side streets where you practice a strolling stillness without any engine sounds and the skies turning on into color and then eternal magnificence of twilight, it accompanies your every move and theirs doubt about it, you are more adorable without the car wrapped around you, where you can be what you are. walking water. that gently laps. i have come to you this

midnight and lane down in your black body with it's soft red blush and pulled the starkly blue cover over a cheek or moon blushing through the midst. and the final for me. juna. that's juna bomb. that she lived on board avenue. 3 blocks away from the street isn't bronx i grew up on. just what are you getting out june abonus, that an alphabet, i would be visiting on a masterpiece and writing a

bistro of poems. scones. 47 years later. she has long since ash, the world has become unmitigated cash. a woman gazing into the face of a cell phone. i gave me lover a cherry and lived on. endure these bitter hips and hot heads and the empty collapse. night will still holdup after all these years. summer snap. >> virginia tech. the loner is here. the one who stopped listening.

the one with the hidden fuse. with the fist. with the hole in his heart. with the cool guns, the one who blasts away. who kills just because. who kills as well because there's nothing left but the dead. kills himself. suicide on top of all these kills and now you know, what a mar gin in old baghdad in the wrong place at the wrong time why you're mourning is going in one ear of the deaf tomorrow.

and out the deafening utter. air cane. one, the sorrow these many months isn't because celebrities put eyes all over my body as i was in the u.s. again. not the other america. it comes from the footprint of a kick stab in my back. got riding a bus to a reading with some really destitute brothers and sisters in a 16, 3 office space. i am sitting in the rear of the bus reading a translation of the book of the concealed

mystery. my eyes are risen from a black woman standing and talking on her cell phone. i voice decibeled, latino black and white workers. when i arrive, i accidentally grace her sleeve with an excuse me. she pushed me. shouts don't touch me with hate red and what the hell do you think you did to me. the eyes coiled and in denial or at once and set to spring. when my shoulders i bear a

gentle but insistent arms and turning from a black man, you don't want to go here. here's your stop. he leads me to the stair well, but no sooner do i begin descending when i feel myself hurtled down my a kick to my back falling and landing up a level on my feet as the door closes with a snicker and the bus pulls away. from my amazement what they do, the latina asks in startled urgency on the sidewalk. and home wards make me realize, i am 72. for the first time in