If history is a record of survivors, Poetry shelters other voices.

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

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.

If history is a record of survivors, Poetry shelters other voices.

Whose order is shut inside the structure of a sentence?

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

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