Stones are old currency in Jerusalem.
The donkey on a narrow twist of road,
crossing to connect compass with border,
will measure a child’s tomb.
Past meaningless olive trees,
the garden of reason, the garden of heaven,
bells unwind the milk song of sirens,
choking on banal prayer. Crowns buckle.
Michael Dwayne Smith proudly owns and operates one of the English-speaking world’s most unusual names. His apparitions can be seen at Word Riot, >kill author, The Cortland Review, Monkeybicycle, Blue Fifth Review, BLIP, The Northville Review, Pirene’s Fountain, Orion headless, Quantum Poetry Magazine, Short, Fast, and Deadly, Phantom Kangaroo, Red River Review, Right Hand Pointing, and other haunts. A recipient of both the Hinderaker Prize for poetry and the Polonsky Prize for fiction, he currently lives in a desert town along with his wife, son, and rescued animals—all of whom talk in their sleep. Conjure him on Twitter with the spell @michaelthebear or on the interwebs at