Here comes Andy Smart’s personal hybrid of essay and fiction, poem and prose, man and blue horse. A deceptively slim collection, galloping from dreamscape to the Pimlico track to the dark side of Gomer Pyle, Smart’s view is decidedly slant, with too much heart to be altogether contained.

Blue horses danced in the smoke and the dark and I was still a virgin but I knew at last how to dream. In Orwell’s book the simpleton cart horse dies pulling stone for the windmill. What they don’t tell you about cart horses is they turn blue and become the wind in the spinner blades or the dastardly foe of Don Quixote. They become the muse and companion of a boy. I should tell you: I was a boy. I was.

– excerpt, “Wilder Blue”