Adam O. Davis is a poet, photographer, test pilot, greengrocer, gardener, thief, liar, truth-teller, bank teller, door-to-door salesman, book binder, night deposit box, logarithm, lamplighter, lobsterman, horse breaker, cat burglar, curt cartographer, carbon copy, cubist octopus, bail bondsman, bad barnstormer, paperboy, teacher, automotive technician, tearful confessor, candyman, cropduster, getaway car driver, top-seeded amateur, surfer, soothsayer, railway brakeman, lightning strike recipient, sinister signpost, unexpected sweepstakes, sentimental jukebox, endangered species, naturally-occurring arch, axeman, ashcan, ashram janitor, freelance writer/editor, speechwriter, ghostwriter, ghostbuster, concierge, cape wearer, lost shoe, lost balloon, floating away from your childhood at an exponential rate.

His work has appeared or is forthcoming in several journals, including Boston Review, Grist, The Laurel Review, POOL, Sixth Finch, The Southern Review, CutBank, and The Paris Review.