by Eric Borlaug



Dear Subtlety,

I’m sorry I never called

after our one night stand. I apologize

for prostituting myself

for notice— pretending to be caviar to the admirable.

I’ve stood you up before but

it will continue so don’t you worry.

I eat wine and drink

cheese just because and feel nothing

and fly Southwest

to fool around with Impudence in Jackson Hole.

I’ll take Vulgarity and Shock
out to the club, with which I have membership,

and go down on them

in the bathroom for no reason other than something,

before I take a portrait

with Virtue to hang on the wall above the mantle

so as to offend you

when you come to my dinner party on Sunday.

See you soon,


Dear self-concious

You tell yourself

that you must be true to yourself.

To deny yourself

the food that you love because you want your body

to impress those

you think you love would be exchanging your pleasure

for the pleasure

of others. You can go work out if you have to,

but wine and cheese

won’t kill you yet. Stop reading advertisements and

meet me

at the sushi bar.

Your friend,


To Moon,

I don’t believe in you.

You hardly even visit anymore

for hiding behind

the famous building tops of our skyline

you stand guard

against stars surreptitiously.  Come back.




When someone wants

to spend time with me I sometimes say

that I’m writing,

and that I will call them later

but I won’t

and I am not writing.

I tell my roommate

that I am masturbating when I’m watching


so that I won’t have to talk to her.

If you ask me

I will deny having ever watched TV

since my youth.

It is not the best usage of time,

and forces me

to eat things uncooked.



Dear Gin,

What the hell?



You are always doing that!

telling my taste buds to eat wine and drink cheese

when you’ll just vomit

them into my hips to make me shudder

when an unknown lover

subtly slides their hands towards my enlarged glutes.

Please, go fuck the moon.



To Whom It May Concern:

Second only

to my ability to drink

is my ability

to apologize.

To apologize

is to feel remorse and

to not commit

the act apologized for again.

Somehow this

disingenuity looks becoming

on me—

an impressive specimen

of chromium

sold as sterling silver.




I do remember

that you are.



Hey Mouth!

Your cliché cigarette let its ash

fall in to my cup, on accident I’m sure…


To Moon, Love, and Stomach,

For me this

self-loving space is—