• Address 720 East Locust Street | Milwaukee, WI 53212
  • Phone 414.263.5001
  • Hours Tue-Fri 11-8pm | Sat-Sun 12-5pm | Closed Mon
  • Hours Tue-Fri 11-8pm, Sat-Sun 12-5pm, Closed Mon
Event Calendar
readings & workshops
July 18

Reading: Still Waters Collective, Runs Deep anthology

readings & workshops
July 20

Book Launch: Draw Write Here! Volume III, Issue 1

readings & workshops
July 22

Sunday Summer Story Series!

readings & workshops
July 29

Poetry Reading: Tongo Eisen-Martin

readings & workshops
July 29

Sunday Summer Story Series!

July 30 - Aug 10

Woodland Pattern Annual Inventory - STORE CLOSED

readings & workshops
August 14

Offsite Reading: Poetry in the Park - Juneau Park

August 16

Formations Series for New & Improvised Music

Tim Earley

Tim Earley is the author of two collections of poems, Boondoggle and The Spooking of Mavens. A limited edition chapbook, Catfish Poems, is forthcoming from Delete Press this summer. His work has appeared in Colorado Review, Chicago Review, jubilat, Conduit, La Petite Zine, Typo, The Ecopoetry Anthology, and many other publications. He teaches at the University of Mississippi and in the Fine Arts Work Center's Online Writing Program.

Selected Poems


Tim Earley


mead at clog. in the moar this chicken red tipped and phenomenon. gossips

lord aslant. in a sense I live only to violate and shudder but not even the

bounding line is moved by my betrothals. today is scanning of thrift pants. a

new mate is possible. and with that an entirely new coaglum of being. a

heaven recurving as the sky. the v's the possums make as they migrate to

the orange grove of the floridas. cut a hole in that goddamned porch. lordy or

a dog or sponge absorbent corpse ill-benamed and permanent in its

dimensions is hiding down there. the diaspora safely contained in the castle.

nothing shall overbear my paramourmal incantations. my first addressee is

the weathervane. my first lover was not oafish or dressed as hyena was not

redolent of plums did not scotch an apple in her mouth there were no reams

of grotesque children packed into her suitcase yet. she was a bureaucrat with

an arrow through her thigh. a gestural impasse. she was my heart before my

heart realized sex is a displacement an irritation of alternatives a metallic

license and always occurring under a bridge either my ear is imaginary or

there is a far away mote in it. when she smiled a dominant theme was

reintroduced. to conceive a gallant chapter in the arsenic pool. wind a sissure

heaming and so cannot direct my lustful action, friends. obey the garland for

form cannot repent. or for further instance me and these animals have

conjugal contracts our degrees of insight mobled and good men left to urinate

on spring-toothed harrows poor in worms and peculiar in green. desiderated

quark rondel reminds us of the cauteled mule and bredwine maggot. in our

brains numerous trematodes dispense their furrows. we are forced nightly to

labor and inform.