Why I Cannot Live in Great Falls: A Poem by J.D. Smith
It’s not the leather-smelling shelves at Hoglund’s / or the boots I haven’t learned to walk in.
“If prose is a house, poetry is a man on fire running quite fast through it.”
—Anne Carson
It’s not the leather-smelling shelves at Hoglund’s / or the boots I haven’t learned to walk in.
'Outside Camilla' and 'Storm'
She asked when she could come to the hospital to see her new niece
I urge like a red lacquered / fingernail tapping a car / window, rat-tat-tat-ing, exclaiming / over there! faster than words
presume you bite a tomato the same way a man chomps an apple
These poems are not art / They are burial instructions
Here is what I know: silence has a sound.
look how the wet seeks the sand
Picasso’s eyes no longer saw for themselves
The April day scorns your true beauty.