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poet

Tim Seibles

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Born in Philadelphia in 1955, Timothy Seibles earned a BA from Southern Methodist University in Dallas and an MFA from Vermont College. He is the author of Fast Animal (Estruscan Press, 2012), a finalist for the 2012 National Book Award; Hammerlock (Cleveland State University Poetry Center, 1999); Ten Miles an Hour (Mille Grazie Press, 1998); Kerosene (Ampersand Press, 1995); Hurdy-Gurdy (Cleveland State University Poetry Center, 1992); and Body Moves (Corona Press, 1988). He taught high school English for ten years and worked as writing coordinator of the Fine Arts Work Center in Provincetown, Massachusetts. He has also taught at Cave Canem and is currently visiting faculty for the University of Southern Maine’s low-residential Stonecoast MFA Program. His lives in Norfolk, Virginia, where he is an associate professor of English at Old Dominion University.

by this poet

poem

There are days I believe there ain' nothing to fear
I perk up for green lights, my engine on call
But it could be the zombies are already near

That sleep that we feed every day of the year
What's up with your friends when they circle the mall?
There are nights when I think I have no one to

poem

Picture a city
and the survivors: from their
windows, some scream. Others
walk the aftermath: blood
and still more blood coming
from the mouth of a girl.

This is the same movie
playing all over
the world: starring everybody
who ends up where the action
is: lights,

poem

My thoughts are murder to the State and involuntarily go plotting against her.
          —Henry David Thoreau

As if leaving
it behind would
have me lost
in this place, as if

keeping it
could somehow
save me from the
parade of knives