Jan. 7th, 2020
The 16th green of the golf course was overcome today with geese, as happens only when winter comes but the snow has melted away…maybe thousands, how many thousands the media would not report, and they all were facing toward the setting sun and the wind which was blowing cold. Every short interval they would rise as one, screaming to each other as if death was upon them, and they would clamber up into the sky, swirling in a large arc back upon themselves, screaming of death and resurrection and looking back upon where they had been feeding, the sun shining brightly on their asses as they rose. And then seeing nothing in their arc that was creeping up behind them, they would again circle on their heavy wings, and settle again where they had been to feeds upon whatever blades of life they could find. Together, they would watch the evening news. Iran had at last ordered ballistic missiles a world away and coming up behind them. They would eat what they could get.
Jared Smith has spent his life trying to break apart the lies of commerce, politics, and mass media, while trying to illuminate the vast cosmos that remains. Along the way he has written fourteen critically acclaimed books of poetry, served on the editorial boards of four literary magazines, and on the governing boards of literary and arts non-profits in New York, Illinois, and Colorado. His latest book is That's How It Is, from Stubborn Mule Press.