Whiskey-stained mouth, hair smelling of grilled pineapple and cigarettes, and little flashing instances of shame and sentimentality: this must be the Eileen Myles BBQ Hangover c. 2009! On the bright side, I'm now the proud owner of two handsome bookmarks which read as follows:

1. Don't hoe my row.

7. You've got not reason to fear / my goose.


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