The One Naked in Bain Playground

In one hour
I cleave a piece of

siren and burgle
the best in you.  I paint

a robin in borrowed
chalk white.

When we sound
rough glaciers

back home
I am given the

car alarm you mark
sleep by.  You

are a lockbox in my
arms but I touch

only glass and light.

The One in an Empty Pack of Stuyvesants

A deer slowly dying
is all
I can listen to.

Stagger, stumble
in the lit patch.

What else
on this Earth can
carry a tune?

The One in a Fashion Warehouse

In omission, we stretch
and are not made
a memory.

The stringís just a trap
or a declaration
in our guts.

For what is asked of me
I canít get
high enough.

Whatever else
is bled
is not to sing.


Tyler Smith was born and raised in Rochester, NY. His poems have appeared in Everyday Genius, Jellyfish, and elsewhere.  His chapbook, The Go-Go Playlist, is forthcoming from Burning River Press. He lives in the Bay Area and plays bass full-time in the band Polar Bear Club.