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August 5, 2008 The Arsenal, Central Park, New York City From the Academy Audio Archive

About this poet

Abraham Smith is the author of Hank (Action Books, 2010) and Only Jesus Could Icefish in Summer (Action Books, 2014). He teaches at University of Alabama and lives in Tuscaloosa, Alabama and Ladysmith, Wisconsin.

we both split

Abraham Smith
like summer melon
hit by a part
from a washing machine

yes seeds but no
seeds to bean
the oils from

I run olive
oil all in my glasses

make it so I only see in sleep

wedge of bread
masks the crow
a clown you know
fat white nose

pecked once
and dropped
from yonder pine

your smashing legs
uncrossed

god your dropping foot
evens the ground
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From Whim Man Mammon, published by Action Books. Copyright © 2007 by Abraham Smith. Used with permission.

From Whim Man Mammon, published by Action Books. Copyright © 2007 by Abraham Smith. Used with permission.

Abraham Smith

Abraham Smith is the author of Hank (Action Books, 2010) and Only Jesus Could Icefish in Summer (Action Books, 2014). He teaches at University of Alabama and lives in Tuscaloosa, Alabama and Ladysmith, Wisconsin.

by this poet

poem

in his wide wide palm the reigns loose as a foundering
pulse the sky gone
the color of the dying too
and the night kneels
on the throat of the morning
the turkey is clocking and
the night is a preservationist
the morning is a revisionist and
the child is erasing her skin

poem
This poem is from a longer work, written in dedication to Abraham Smith's canine companion, Rodney.
poem
secret soil coital
the dove there
sounds blonde as
whipped oil
please appeal to
wimpling skies
journeying trees
there is but one fence
bone true and 
one blockhead dog
inside
to rend
the smarts
of trees
at journey's end