Natalie Simpson's first collection of poetry, accrete or crumble, was published by LINEbooks in 2006. above/ground press recently reissued her chapbook Dirty Work as part of its Alberta Series. More of her poetry can be found in Shift & Switch: New Canadian Poetry (The Mercury Press) and Post-Prairie: An Anthology of New Poetry (Talonbooks). Natalie is a former managing editor of filling Station magazine, and intermittently publishes limited edition chapbooks through her press, edits all over. She lives in Calgary.
Geosphorical, graphical, apoint in continual reticence. Hammers
blasting, all guns a-sway.
The day is thin and bereft.
I take self-evidence fully. The word is quote “cramming.”
A growing concern for falliotropic armor, the glowing amorphous
etc., love and its constituent amiabilities.
Strain four walls and brilliant, sprain the hunt.
As such, you
being nudged in phonic
Gorgeous elastic snap can master plastic rasp of wind in this
Some have laboured monotonously.
The day is chill.
I like to synchronize emotion with your states of undress.
Cast my photographic caught half wit.
A version of detail lingers.
Your heart beats.
The day is swallows, shore and water balance, calm precludes.
Homing pigeons lose their way: what choice then
for language users who hone acutely to shifting
tension in spine and nerve.
For he guesses the most flaccid generosity.
Gash in the text weave thick.
Two thirds flesh, why nothing,
I was still working on the moving
Gild guilt with happy stances quick words work
no size but execution no pun your underpinning.
This writing puts a crimp in my throat, back deep resounding.
He elapsed with his grasp of time intact.
Your riff is all becoming:
Feeling slatternly helps a day get
Speak with breath heavy sentence sexes.
What desire, having begun with desire, what deserve.
form is fitting less inhibiting. fast handed rounds and round.
yesterday erased the plausible. structure fools those eyes that
clutter. at all costs, the simplest line nets all fluster.
you have to hustle round this game.
slight shivers hover the trap lines. at last the signal grips. these
stretches tender rhythm as intricate buds and bending. these
forms centre desire as stretching encased.
we fasten odd rhythm to our bodies: lantern and transom. a
climate of fallacy clatters. our bodies, you gather, are graphite
sadly, he meandered, these fascinations grow heady, aspirations
purse, meter per dollar, matter of face.
blips and strips, strum.
any word, errant, searching for a syllable leads to some link. we
scorn into set rhythms, redundant, redux.
accrete or crumble
by Natalie Simpson
used by permission
find out more at: http://nataliesimpson.blogspot.ca/