Here’s a poem from my upcoming collection. (Of poems, I mean. But you knew that.)

A Secret Interlude Regarding Not-So-Secret Secrets. Or Something.

[This is just one of twelve other curses in the book, which are really secretly not curses at all but bass-ackward professions of undying and/but now-unrequited love. FYI. FWIW. Etc.]

Plus! Le Happy. Which is Rip City, crepes. Tres bien…

Curse #3: The Accursed Whose Culinary Talents Are Aimed at the Heart

I still taste butter | The skillet’s coat
Milkfat and sclerotic | Clings my throat

This meal you cook for me | Sweet
Such a meal | The bounty | My satiety

The gorgeousness | I eat and eat
Would it were a summer day | Would there

Were a picnic basket | Blue sky | No ants | Gaiety
The earth is not round | But heart-shaped and broken