In Maureen Owen's perfectly titled Erosion's Pull, words and lines map, unmap, and revamp our everyday postcontemporary geographies: ironies and ambiguities, surrealistic conundrums, kaleidoscopic comedies, puzzlements, certain and uncertain loves and losses.

Whose order is shut inside the structure of a sentence?

Soundwaves. It’s the difference between one stillness and another stillness.

There’s a level at which words are spirit and paper is skin. That’s the fascination of archives. There’s still a bodily trace.

A poem is an invocation, rebellious return to the blessedness of beginning again, wandering free in pure process of forgetting and finding.

In Maureen Owen's perfectly titled Erosion's Pull, words and lines map, unmap, and revamp our everyday postcontemporary geographies: ironies and ambiguities, surrealistic conundrums, kaleidoscopic comedies, puzzlements, certain and uncertain loves and losses.

I often think of the space of a page as a stage, with words, letters, syllable characters moving across.