my lungs are a divebar

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5.0 X 7.0 X 0.25 inches | 0.23 pounds
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About the Author

walter moore: ba. mfa. phd. cbd. thc. lived in about 20 towns/cities/countries, resided on street, in car, penthouse, condo, apartments, houses between, greyhounds. poet writer performer dancer sleeper friend partner. chainsmokes but plays table tennis at a professional level, enjoys secondhand papasan chair, treats roaches like fingers-drinks pea soup out of glass, buys cheap beer & steals expensive hottubs, votes with waters and illuminates food trucks. his waterfall is an idea. teaches at oregon state university-and lives and plays in corvallis, oregon, with dog lloyd and lady friend erica.


"In a time when many books seem eager to flaunt their ethics, Walter Moore's my lungs are a dive bar offers a refreshing departure. There's a striking negative capability here, an impulse to approach everything and everyone with both a side-eye and a dose of empathy. These poems are gritty, unflinching, cagey. But for all the anti-epiphanic moves Moore makes, he allows for tenderness and beauty, as seen in the remarkable poem "family history." Here, there's a desire to retrace a lineage back to something "before any / violence / to write about." The futility of such an action is one of this book's startling moments of tragic wisdom. This is the voice of a casual prophet, a rapscallion, a hoarse cough in the back of a dark bar, a bloodied knuckle dragging across an iron window grate. It's one you won't soon forget."

--Corey Van Landingham, Antidote, Love Letter to Who Owns the Heavens

"Hilarious, painful, and outrageous - often in the same phrase. Drawing from overheard fist fights, willfully eschewed observations, and half-a-lifetime of wrong turns turned right, Walter Moore crafts nail-sharp poems and prose explosions with a kind of screaming, laughing brilliance that is not to be missed. These pages will slap your eyes until everything you see shines."

--Owen Egerton, Hollow

"Here is an honest underworld of poverty, booze, smoke, fighting, loving, debt, work, and redemptive friendship. The players are self-deprecating and cocky, punkish and tender, absurd and sincere as they make fun of and try to hang-on to their troubled America. Walter Moore is a terrific poet whose voice is soaked in the millennial experiences of music, film, media and seeing through bullshit."

--Henry Hughes, Bunch of Animals, Men Holding Egg