Steve Timm

Un Storia Steve Timm

Poetry. A finery set of punctures you will not find. Steve Timm pinched these poems of poise and waggish flame right after leaving the first dawn bird factory where he'd been tinkering kerosene into arrows keening owl logic unseen and...scene. Timm's Italian peeps are all thumbs smeared with memes--terse though language-lavish cue cards for the slalom tyre crawling salmon urgent down along you and your quote unquote erstwhile low road bones. Right now or by noon, you'll be in the wine creek with the sound of an Italian gargling, which you will herald as all waterfall shortly or by noon. Or: There goes Steve Timm on a Vespa with orders from the thirsty to catch every raindrop on a contact lens that fell from the head of the last seer with the swerve gear, and the truth is Timm catches everyone, slakes everyone, sleight-of-hands a ringer where a rung groaned. Or: Go ask the straight road begging for an oxbow from Timm. Gather these here where you've found them on this olive, lava earth. If ever you should will a shelter worthy of this world's crooked sky, let these poems remind you that velvet hammers feel too. Rarest medicine man, Timm heals you with the same stuff by which he wounds your rutted purl, which brings me around to the driving sail: all aquavit wit aside, the highest totem herein stands for aphoristic-grace-potlatch-heart. Finally, I have not read a more gifting collection in years--Abraham Smith.