Reason #478 to grow a beard.
Oh, hey there, Pacific Northwest! We’re touring all over you for National Poetry Month.
We’re gonna be little poetry spewing ants, crawling all over Oregon and Washington.
Do help us spread le word about these here shows:
She is always in pain
I am learning to
never be one for her
Were only my kiss
Don’t mind if I do! (Photo taken by me in Oakland, California; June 2011)
Ian Khadan, my good man, fellow poet and New Yorker “eggstraordinaire” made one of the best omelets of my life just now. That’s provolone oozing out of it. Oozy… Too oozy… Toozy. He won over a part of my heart tonight. Visit Ian’s site: http://www.iankhadan.com
Can’t remember where I found this, but I dig the sentiment.
Portland, Oregon—January 2012.
I have a very foggy, clouded recollection of being born. It was all too bright, scary, cold and confusing. I have attributed those feelings to the act of being born, but I cannot be sure. My first clear memory is of me at six months old, being held by my grandmother’s neighbor. She kept “goo-goo-gaga-ing” me and I kept feeling concerned for her lack of intelligence. I remember feeling too close to her face and untrusting of her.