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Michael Dickman

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Michael Dickman

Born in Portland, Oregon, in 1975, Michael Dickman, his twin brother Matthew, and his younger sister were raised by their mother in the neighborhood of Lents. He received his MFA from the Michener Center for Writers at the University of Texas at Austin.

Dickman's first collection, The End of the West, was published in 2009 by Copper Canyon Press. He is also the author of Green Migraine (Copper Canyon Press, 2015) and the coauthor, with his brother, of 50 American Plays (Copper Canyon Press, 2012). His second collection of poetry, Flies (Copper Canyon Press, 2011), received the 2010 James Laughlin Award.

His many grants, fellowships, and residencies include honors from organizations such as the Michener Center for Writers, the Vermont Studio Center, the Fine Arts Work Center, and the Lannan Foundation. He was awarded the Hodder Fellowship from Princeton University for 2009-2010.

In addition to writing, Dickman appeared in the 2002 film Minority Report with his twin brother, worked for years as a cook, and has recently been active in the Writers in the Schools program. He lives in Portland, Oregon.


Green Migraine (Copper Canyon Press, 2015)
50 American Plays (Copper Canyon Press, 2012)
Flies (Copper Canyon Press, 2011)
The End of the West (Copper Canyon Press, 2009)


Michael Dickman, P.O.P

Michael Dickman, P.O.P

1 of 1

by this poet

I sit down for dinner
with my dead brother

This is the last dream I ever want to have

Passing the forks 
around the table, passing 
the knives

There's nothing to worry about

One thing I want to know is who's in the kitchen right now if it isn't me

It isn't me

The kitchen is full of flies, flies are
You don't have to
be afraid

His super-outfit is made from handfuls of shit and garbage blood and pinned together
   by stars

Flying around
the room
like a mosq-

Drinking all the blood
or whatever we

to save us

need to be saved


I whispered     To the

Standing in her house today all I could think of was whether she took a shit every

or ever fucked anybody
or ever fucked

God's poet
singing herself to sleep

You want these sorts of things for people

Bodies and
the earth

the earth inside

Instead of white
nightgowns and