One day, this will be my #office every day. (at mi casa)
You were a cum stain on my favourite black jeans, the matching puddle a shadow on a couch I sold to an overweight couple from a suburb called Beaverton. They had an eleven-year-old son who really liked the couch, and I felt like he could smell the leftover sex as he bounced on the damp cushions, pleading its purchase.
I sold that shame for forty bucks and helped pack it into a minivan, but I wore those jeans all summer, to tatters, like the holes in the pockets were mocking and mimicking me both at once, because I couldn’t hold anything in.
The first things that went were the back pockets. My keys kept poking out and I kept dropping my wallet when I bent over. That saying about “a hole in your pocket,” the one about money – was pretty literal.
On the other hand, all my money was alchemized to booze; I was baptized in it all summer long, and those jeans were my baptism gown.

This great place called Reading Frenzy
only needs, like,
200 more dollars to stay open.
Won’t you help a sister out:
http://www.kickstarter.com/projects/947849256/reading-frenzy-relaunch

I will be reading a few new & old poems at The Tardis Room this Sunday in Portland. That’s the fish & chip place on Killlingsworth, y’know? The Doctor Who themed bar. Right by the highway overpass. If none of this makes sense to you, here is the Facebook event page.
Anyway, it’s going to be a great night, with musical guests and plenty more poets. It starts at 8pm, it’s free, and it will leave you joyful or pregnant or possibly British. I hope to see you there.
This guy just turned thirty. This was taken in March, last year, somewhere between Texas and California, I think.
I supposed her an always
and asked her to forever too
soon and we nevered each other again
I remember you from the tomorrow I wanted when my eyes were deep soil,
I feel you in my yesterday, planted beneath the salted earth in my chest,
you are familiar when I will be old,
the unforgotten roots that will answer my question