• Address 720 East Locust Street | Milwaukee, WI 53212
  • Phone 414.263.5001
  • Hours Tue-Fri 11-8pm | Sat-Sun 12-5pm | Closed Mon
  • Hours Tue-Fri 11-8pm, Sat-Sun 12-5pm, Closed Mon
Event Calendar
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exhibitions
October 6 -28

Exhibition - Ugly Duckling Presse: 25th Anniversary Celebration

performances
October 18

Formations Series for New & Improvised Music

readings & workshops
October 20

Poetry Reading: Soham Patel and Lauren Russell 

readings & workshops
October 25

Poetry Reading: Urban Echo Poets + Open Mic

readings & workshops
October 28

Poetry Reading: Kathleen A. Dale, Louisa Loveridge Gallas, Judith Harway, and Bill Murtaugh

special events
November 17

We Exist to Prove the Living Artist: 38th Anniversary Gala

readings & workshops
November 30

Poetry Reading: Anna Vitale and Daniel Owen

film & video
December 14

Film Screening: Riverwest Film & Video by Emir Cakaroz

Abraham Smith

Abraham Smith hails from Ladysmith, Wisconsin. His first book of poems, Whim Man Mammon, was recently published by Action Books. His journal credits include American Poetry Review, jubilat, Northwest Review, Denver Quarterly, Typo, and Ninth Letter, among others. He was a 2004-05 Writing Fellow at the Fine Arts Work Center, Provincetown, MA. Presently, he teaches literature and creative writing at the University of Alabama.

If Frank Stanford got up from the dead to slam (and slammed to win), what he would say might well resemble the poems in Whim Man Mammon.
-Graham Foust

 

Mash Gertrude Stein with agrarian folk and you have the unholy matrimony of Abraham Smith's debut, Whim Man Mammon.
-Cathy Park Hong

Selected Poems

Every Little Meth


Abraham Smith

 

EVERY LITTLE METH
runt crouched in
the dark part of the culvert
every sugar road
half a bag shy
of the four roads
every here we go crow
spoiled at the touch
of gun holes in signs
love is inside
light wet seeds
nailed into the crawlspace
between eyetooth
and barred goon

__________________________________________________

 

Whim Man Mammon



WHIM MAN MAMMON
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