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" I offer my scratched golds to the blueprint of possible.
dear reader whenever you are reading this is the future to me, which means tomorrow is still coming, which means today still lives, which means there is still time for beautiful, urgent change, which means there is still time to make more alive which means there is still poetry."


Can a book of poetry save you? Can it solve the problems of the world? Smith says no. The beginning of his new book of poetry faces the futility of making change head-on. Poetry cannot stop this from happening. Worse, it gets used by the very people who are making things terrible. He has to swallow pride from those who would harm him in a different context. The first half of this book is filled with despair and frustration. Midway through the poems, he changes focus. It is at that point he shows his true power as a poet. The poems are filled with hope, promise, and resilience. One would wonder if this is what the title of the book refers to.

Favorite Passages:

We wanted to stop being killed and they thanked me for my beauty

happy to vote Happy to be able to protest the killing We couldn't end, happy for healthcare That killed us slower, happy the gays could marry In the country where trans women vanished Like snow in warm winters Happy our wars were only of the mind only elsewhere.

…we made them late for work, traffic such a gentle revenge for how they clog heaven, a small inconvenience in return for the harvesting of cousins�

Capitalism is the worst bird, able to make a tool out of its destruction.

I hate it here. It’s June so it’s perfect. They do it every pride month, take stonewall and hide the brick. They’re doing it again. Money making uprising a strategy, a mask. Money making your dead face a shield, an invitation to spend your grief. Money figuring out how to stay safe. Money playing the money game. Money making you forget it’s about money. This all started over twenty bucks.

Sometimes we laugh when we are in danger. Every man I knew who was evil had someone who loved him who called him good.

I offer my scratched golds to the blueprint of possible.
dear reader whenever you are reading this is the future to me, which means tomorrow is still coming, which means today still lives, which means there is still time for beautiful, urgent change, which means there is still time to make more alive which means there is still poetry.

Somewhere my children can write poems about being without protest, their songs full of stars.