Rise of the Trust Fall

Rise of the Trust Fall

by Mindy Nettifee


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Product Details

ISBN-13: 9780984251599
Publisher: Write Bloody Publishing
Publication date: 05/01/2010
Pages: 120
Product dimensions: 5.50(w) x 8.40(h) x 0.40(d)

About the Author

Mindy Nettifee is a Pushcart Prize-nominated writer and award-winning performance poet from Long Beach, California. She has competed in five National Poetry Slams, opened for indie rock acts the Cold War Kids, Meiko and Emily Wells, and curated events for the Smithsonian, the city of Los Angeles, GirlFest, the Drums Inside Your Chest and more. She is the author of two books of poetry, Sleepyhead Assassins (Moon Tide Press) andÂRise of the Trust Fall (Write Bloody Press), a nominee for the National Book Critics Circle Award. She is also the co-founder and director of Write Now Poets.

Read an Excerpt


I would like to thank first of all:

my asthmatic lungs,

my inadequacy in the bedroom,

my Texas reckless streak and waning night vision

that make awareness of my own mortality possible.

Next, I would like to thank my constant nightmares

for their vivid, arresting creativity:

their cheerful execution of ritual disembowelment,

their lifelike rendering of flesh-eating animatronic bunnies,

and their resourcefulness in general

with symbols for personal failure.

I must thank my inability to balance a checkbook

coupled with my whimsical attitude about money

and my magically disappearing work ethic,

without which my debt would be nothing.

And while we're at it, thank you Blockbuster Video

for ruining my credit with $17 in late fees from 1996.

Next, a big thanks to my father, the pathological liar

who in his way taught me to be a poet.

Thank you sanity for being a finite natural resource.

To my crippling self doubt: thanks.

to my weak left eye,

my squishy arms,

my smaller right breast,

misshapen as a Tijuana coin purse: thanks.

Thank you allergic rash.

Thank you pens which run out of ink when I'm finally being brilliant.

Thank you humiliation,

with a special shout out to Brad Carlson.*

Thank you to my guts.

I love your red twistyness, your endless judgmental bullshit,

your fleshy gears, your broken alarm bells that look like french knots.

I trusted you.

Finally, I would like to thank you

for sleeping with that other woman

who was so much prettier than me.

For a moment, you really had me going -

whipcream puppies, slippery cloud sex, forever and ever and all that.

There was so much sweet hope in my plastic farm heart,

the ants were building sugarcastles in my ventricles.

There was so much dopamine sogging my brain

I thought we invented flying.

It's so much better here on the ground,

where the morning light tastes like asphalt and swing set rust.

Where everything has teeth that glow.

Where I can afford large grains of salt

with the money I save

buying into nothing.

*Brad Carlson you know what you did

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