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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

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

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