This is a poetry collection I wrote back in 2010. i have always found summer to be a difficult time, too quiet or too loud, too much. i had a great time writing this work.
state, me(a)nt
the small of july is nothing more grandiose than the small of things, like the small of the back, Emily Carr‟s the Book of Small, a phantom child. what goes unnoticed or unheard. what is voiceless. too trite to talk about attempts at what? just living forward or still in a post apocalyptic era, submersion in popular culture as a replacement for caring. what about patterns. disrupt them w/ action, w/ silence. how does text fit or does it at all. words & nothing help, yet they are pervasive as cockroaches in a disaster. summer, the dead season where everyone disappears, how heat turns the brain to bogmush. & it‟s worst in the city, wreck & dig of bulldozers, teardowns, tunnelunders, rusted pipe, ruined graffiti. everyone disappears to cottages & air conditionement ...abandonment. & yes the l word. (loneliness)
attempts to trouble the pattern of everyday language via juxtapositions, metaphoric hopskips, associations, ambiguities, wordplay.
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