incline of prana, channelling Before the nouns go Pollyanna. a billion billion water drops with so much red, so red with black cast gift that lifts ribs, shoulder, eyes of the not-before-seen Before the nouns go polymer. that sees a laddered river shatter let's drift from source to mouth Silence is seeing enchants the reaching arm take to streams that flow with dark ooze, black Before the nouns go politic. Apollinaire pulls an eye an offering of and through the heart
Steven Ross Smith often likes to bend, confuse and disintegrate that which is most popularly straightened, clarified and constructed in general poetic and fictive practice – language, narrativity and meaning. A performance poet, writer of fiction, poetry, arts journalism and nonfiction, he endeavours to work against convention, especially his own. Through five decades he has written solo, in studios, farmhouses, forested cabins, and wineries, and has created collaboratively in warehouses, libraries, galleries, living rooms, on stages, and via email.
