Wow.
It's a pleasure and an honor to be here,
and I thank everybody at the Poetry Center
for welcoming me and Natalie with open arms.
And I got to say, that apartment it is pretty sweet.
[LAUGHTER]
And also, thank you to the friends and family of Morgan,
for creating this space for poets in Tucson.
I had quite a bit of interaction with Morgan
via blogging and email.
I was in upstate New York's--
upstate New York teaching at Colgate University
when his first book came out.
And I sent him an email, Morgan, can I buy your book directly
from you?
And he goes, sure, 18 bucks.
I'll send you a check.
And a couple of days later, he sent me an email.
You want me to sign your-- you want
me to sign the book for you?
And I found that very endearing that he would ask,
you want me to sign your book?
Where most poets would just dedicate it and just write
their signature and be done with it.
But he asked before he would sign that book for me.
I want to read the first poem from the book.
And this poem borrows and steals lyrics from the Prince song
"Little Red Corvette," which almost got me in trouble
with a publisher, because they assumed the copyright
lawyers read poetry.
[LAUGHTER]
They don't.
"Our Completion-- Oil on Wood.
Tino Rodriguez, 1999."
"Before nourishment, there must be obedience.
In his hands I was a cup overflowing with thirst.
Eighth ruler of my days, ninth lord of my nights,
he thrashed above me like branches.
Once, after weeks of rain, he sliced a potato in half
to remind me of the moon.
The dark slept in the small of his back.
The back of his knees--
pale music.
We'd crumble the Eucharist and feed it to the pigeons.
Sinvergüenza.
Escuintle.
He who makes things sprout.
In the margins in a book of poems by Emily Dickinson,
he scribbled, she had a pocketful of horses, Trojan,
and some of them used.
Often, I mistook him for a storyteller
when he stood in the rain.
A su izquierda, huesos.
A su derecha, mapas de cuero.
When I'd yawn, he'd pluck black petals out of my mouth."