do you feel like reading this poem?

here are some of the things i love:

5am. running.

dani's tofu pumpkin pie, which c and i are basically killing ourselves over:

this yogurt:

bmp's coin library, which includes chaps by lily brown, ben kopel and joshua marie wilkinson, beautifully assembled by e.b. goodale.

this bug, but only a little:

and georgia:

                                                                       sai baba

jen and i are picking back up our cowboy ways and reading:

Saturday, April 30, 6 pm: The Publicly Complex Reading Series @ Ada Books, Providence, RI (Jennifer Denrow, Shanxing Wang, and Jen Tynes)

Monday, May 2, 8 pm: Small Animal Project Reading Series @ Outpost 186, Cambridge, MA

and then later, california!:

May 23rd: Bird and Beckett, San Francisco, CA, 7pm (with Jesse Morse & Richard Froude)

May 27th: Slack Lust (email rdfroudeATgmailDOTcom for directions), Los Angeles, CA (with Jesse Morse & Richard Froude)

do you have richard's book yet?

what about jen's?

restaurants and poems:

there are four restaurants in portland i've fallen madly in love with:

1. (this is my favorite restaurant) screen door: their vegetables include: lacinato kale & roasted red pepper casserole w/ leeks, parmesan & herbed ricotta cheeses, topped w/ walla walla onion cream sauce and butternut squash bread pudding w/ caramelized onion & fontina cheese topped w/ leek cream.

2. delta: best collard greens i've ever had.

3. pine state biscuits: second best collard greens

4. the farm: i had the roasted beet salad with beet wedges and toasted pecans tossed with baby greens, walnut oil vinaigrette and garnished with goat cheese and chives.

poems:

emily kendal frey: the grief performance: i am not / as beautiful as that / terrarium

andrea rexilius: to be human is to be a conversation: here will i spell me out / the world / shucked from my own skin

james gendron: money poems: to clean the dirty water: more water. / our low, rough voices drift / over the shacks of millionaires.

pam rehm: small works:

forget me not


i walk from morning
into my ghost

a silent pulling
road to you

is it memory or
wonder

we are reduced to
following

beyond promise

of recognition