David Ward
​Intarsia


Get  interested  in  physics,  Dave.   Get  interested  in  time crystals,   queue  up  another video.   Get 
interested in the comment section. Get
interested in a porn, Dave. Get afraid
​of  a  porn,  get  afraid   of   a     porn’s
​comment  section. Get  interested   in
god get afraid. Get high and get afraid
in the airb&b where a crime scene will
have been.  Get afraid of what the dog
hears. Get interested in a peanut butter
​sandwich    and    grapefruit    gummy
bears.  Get  afraid  of   getting   fat  get 
interested  in  mirrors get afraid of mirrors.  Get interested in the World Cup why doncha no fear 
                                                                                                         there no investment in any team 
                                                                                                         get afraid it’s like your worst poetry.







Green black walnut hulls: get interested, Dave. Wear your helmet. Huff that scent. The mama 
tree, full of ‘em. Green yolks. Dropping hard. Inside, no shell yet; just water. Just water, Dave.
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Image by Caique Araujo from Pexels
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David Ward is a co-founding editor of the poetry and craft journal Public School Poetry. He has poetry in or forthcoming from Black Warrior Review, HAD, and DMQ. He teaches writing at the University of Michigan.
David Ward is listening to Bowie’s dying album. Is listening to space jazz. Listening to suggested artists. Listening to other men listen to recordings of other men’s conversations while they walk in the woods. Is listening to the little lake lead a Hot Tuesday. Listening to liquid cheese on fries. Listening to Alice Coltrane. To the dog’s firework shudders. A sound you can imagine if you think of a blank silent room and then place within a quaking biscuit of a dog.
Listening to Maggot Brain, listening to farts. Listening to videos of men talking. Listening to Talking Heads. Listening to my beautiful house. My beautiful wife. Listening to the cat yell, listening to the red squirrel yell, the dog yell, the doves cry, the jay yell the red wing blackbird  build  batteries of sound in the air over the cattails over the wastewater reclamation reservoir. 
His own poems are mostly candy. His own poems are mostly cat. His own poetry is mostly this is not. His own poetry is mostly nylon carry-sack. His own poetry is mostly 
          Listen: