Shane Book
My minor trickle loosing its way through town,
all roofs red, redder in the stalled December summer,
beckoning as if people, wind-battered bricks were an afterthought,
corrects itself while losing itself on a map-less amble,
yet ever cool are the seawalls and long their sweep
under a hopeful sign just over there, billboard for beer
leering its restless leer among rolling acres of yellow flowers
pointing to the near impossibility of continuity, as mud minarets
bristling with sticks reduce the surrounding huts to general landscape
bedecking any season. Soon a man started shouting
from his boat. His hair matted with thought and the red perfume
of forces on horseback, rifles sheathed in saddles
as one flame-wreathed town burns into another.
Soon a faraway man on a fortress wall, holding
a stick with cloth bag tied to its end poking the large tree
for fruit, while the datum curls ever closer, higher
unfurling away. One story has the man running
through deserts to another man
and so on until the last runs five days unceasing, dying
with news in his throat. Well, sure, a messenger's task is uneasy
but not for the obvious reasons, a wandering shoreline
continually imagined as its previous iteration though the orchard
of miniature berry trees blooms on schedule.
The trees seem to fade more each year. The redness
left on the ground believes itself a perfected plan, and why not,
"To step on it is like stepping on a swarm of flies."
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Interview with Danez Smith

"I’ve never been much of a poet of place, but there’s a lot of Minnesota and Minneapolis and St. Paul in this book. In my teens and twenties, I tried to convince myself that I was a nomad. It’s hard to tell where things are happening in my first couple of books, outside of a vague sense of America."

viaBOMB MAGAZINE
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What Sparks Poetry:
Jonathan Skinner on "Unfolder"


"I suppose the poem downplays metamorphosis, and all its metaphorical associations, compressing the monarch’s ontogeny, from egg to larva or caterpillar molting through its instars eating their own shed skin to pupal stage with its cremaster to chrysalis and finally butterfly, into one stanza, like those time-lapse photography films we all watched in school. Instead, 'Unfolder' dilates on the risky moment of sexual encounter."
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