• Address 720 East Locust Street | Milwaukee, WI 53212
  • Phone 414.263.5001
  • Hours Tue-Fri 11-8pm | Sat-Sun 12-5pm | Closed Mon
  • Hours Tue-Fri 11-8pm, Sat-Sun 12-5pm, Closed Mon
Event Calendar
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readings & workshops
May 24

Poetry Reading: Urban Echo Poets

readings & workshops
May 26

Genre: Urban Arts - Vibed Out Session

readings & workshops
May 29

Build Your Bindery Community Meeting

performances
June 3

ACL presents: Tom Hamilton & City of Vorticity

readings & workshops
June 6 -8

Workshop with Duriel E. Harris

special events
June 10

Locust Street Festival of Music & Art

June 12

Poetry in the Park - Juneau Park

Michael Autrey

Born in Massachusetts, and raised in Portland, Oregon, Michael Autrey has studied in France and Greece, lived and worked in the Czech Republic, India and Paraguay. He is graduate of the University of Chicago. In 2010 he moved back to the Second City, where he reviews books and teaches. Our Fear is his first book.

Selected Poems

In the Spirit of The Spirit of The Beehive

One sister asks the other
About fucking close to water,
Fucking on a mountaintop.

Do it in bed. Don't fuck with
Exotic locales. He'll forget to pull out—

The monster drowns the girl.
Her father, daughter's body in his arms,

Staggers through the town, mourners
Standing on their shadows' necks

As St. George is often shown,
Standing on the dragon's neck,
Waiting for the applause to die down.

 

In the Strawberries

      For J.T., on his 50th birthday

Men in the back of a pickup:
fatigues, camo make-up,
armed to the teeth.
                                  Their irises
looked like part of their disguise
but I remember the whites of their eyes.

 

Artists' Retreat

All day in the shed,
making noise of metal,
calls it Cosmic Seed;
its comic, laughable.

He gave his best years
to sparks: arc welder
blinding; grinder
whinging, whining.

Weaned off daylight,
I wait for him to mute
the TV. It keeps, he says,
the ghosts at bay.

Ghosts would be welcome.
Scared out of my wits
I'd know I had some
of my own about me.

But Attenborough
confides: Seventy
types of gall afflict
every single old oak