Todd Smith

We slow for town. The mausoleum shell of a coaling tower, dead for fifty years, bruises the air. The Kmart …

It’s Friday night again, two movies so bad another one of your lives has trickled out between them, leading your …

Durum wheat’s taller this summer, or else the Ropp widow is shrinking. She never kicks the feral cats …

Eleven thousand years ago the last glacier scraped through this field. Transmuted by the new sun, struck numb …

On this site, you will find selected poems from my not-yet-published manuscript – which, as we speak, is snuggling with …