The fault lies in the fact since the material is a collage of personal reflections, mixed with observations of natural curiosities, a strong bridge of commonality needs to be built— or at least suggested in a minor fashion. However, the connection keeps falling apart.
With a optimistic stance, I may have a solution hiding in a new book of poems by Kimiko Hahn: Mosquito and Ant. The title work blurs a series of short scenes from her recollections with the closing stanzas reflecting on insects, nonhuman elements—described in humanistic elements. Which, ironically, is similar to my attempts currently, building a line, a thread between Brendan’s restless motions, struggling to notsleep, with the back and forth gestures of a nursery spider in the bedroom window. In a pessimistic voice— I do not want to mirror Hahn’s solution to my argument. I would rather carve out responses without closely following another writer’s path.
•73/ In front of the blue light of television, Pan slouches down, half submerged in the failing hour of the day, the dimming hour, changing channels with the pulse in his wrist, randomly, without purpose, a sprawled existence, still drunk in the moment of slow release.