The two NYC poets discuss poetry, language, and the city they love.

Fogged Clarity brings five sets of music and two poets to The Living Room in NYC.

Amy King No punch in the gut. No black then blue. No guessing or “pro” antlers. I look sexy in clothes. Better with someone who knows better. Armed candy tanks, this continent bleeding from the middle umbilical out. Is the horse hooves on camel backs, is the store water stuffed fat. Our floor sweats the rank rank, smells of hierarchy. Not that you’re less than top. The bottom looks up. Boil the feet, insert ivory until...

Amy King With a cigarette smile, he killed the first crime of outlaw: bake your bread on the side you butter. He ate raw, she felt. Be the one your man can stand behind in a gunfight. Put a bullet in the throat that spews fire for your belly. Such was the lightning of life: the final translation of imagination. Rock the fantasy borne by the backs of childhood. You can hold two pine cones and rubber frogs all your life, or you can build...

The night of June 20th was a special one for the clarity. 350 people gathered for nearly 4 hours to celebrate beauty and drink good beer. Every performer brought it hard, and the evening became one of emotional intimacy. The small, acoustically capable theater played host to passionate artists who executed their respective talents with a candor that was truly special. We are doing this again: in New York, Chicago, and right back here...

by Amy King

(A supplement to her poem I Want To Make You Safe) “The costs – a few billion dollars a month plus a few dozen American fatalities (a figure which will probably diminish, and which is in any case comparable to the number of US motorcyclists killed because of repealed helmet laws) – are negligible compared to $30 trillion in oil wealth, assured American geopolitical supremacy and cheap gas for voters. In terms of...