I wrote this after living in Portland for one year. Now with one year left, it seemed relevant, even if outdated.
my sweat, my sweatshirt, my underwear
my back/pack, rubber/bands, my joni mitchell.
my staples and paper clips and adjustment to the safety pins. my push. my otherwise undeleted. my senate hearings, my weird, my weirdos, my men.
my advice columns and personal ads, my online shopping, my casual encounter, my casual romance, my casual relationship. my restaurateur, food snobs, beloved std.
my music, my misses, my cavities and candy, grammar, work-ethic, and cripppling inhibition.
my intentional misspellings, forward slashes, and self-conscious back/lash. my making of name and losing of voice and operating of phone and paying of bills to budget to back/stroke, to guilt, to guile. my fast/food, my drinking, i throw up, my rack of ribs, my cough and cover.
my shelter, my education, my expense and experience, my jazz and soundtrack, background and brothers. my three sisters, my three sons, my bicycle and impending impotence.
