precarious poetry reading series

it may go without saying—we live in precarious times (politically, personally, poetically. . . )   

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the earth is on the brink of collapse. the theater of justice is a farce. we punish for profit. the oligarchs have won again. in literary circles, publishing is more than uncertain, it is a fool’s errand. no one cares about poetry, we are told.

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yet we are poets, in protest & in prayer​

 

and believe precarity has something to offer us. precarity of genre, slipping through the bars that keep the arts from conspiracy. precarity of the self, what is me is you and all of us. precarity of breath, stuttering on dialect, (mother) tongues, silence.

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lest they forget, power is precarious