David Smith

Eleven-elevens David Smith

Me and Ginny used to talk back and forth, and I'd message her at 11:11 sometimes. She likes that number. Sometimes, she'd message me at 11:11. Most of the time, it was unintentional and magical. We didn't plan on it. Just happened that way. So, in this third book of jail poems, I wrote her one thousand one hundred and eleven haikus and short poems. Haikus are in everything if you know where to look. It's my favorite form in the whole world. Syllables are five, then seven, then five. A lot of my songs have fives, sevens, and fives hidden in there amongst connecting words. Lots of songs and speech patterns do. You know what you can do when you have 1,111 poems to write? You can take your time and say everything, so I did. I took a hundred poems to describe 30 miles of mountain highway. I talk about sushi. And love. And marriage. Sushi as bribery. For marriage. Bribe her with sushi. Sushi. Kisses. Bribery. Elope. Yes. I done all that. New themes, and old themes from the first two books, picked up. Looked at. Laid down. Picked up again. Growing. Expanding. Evolving. Love poems and post-Taoist thought. And nature. Waxing and waning in leaps and lulls. Whole thing's a lullaby. And a holler. The words are all alive. I love all of you. Love and grace.-dave