W i n g' d, the new collection from Kyle Simonsen, is a compact selection of 15 poems which seek to examine a new world where everything shits and shimmers. A near-futuristic post-apocalyptic junk yard marred by corporate and/or robotic whores. A world where fauna rule and that near-forgotten beast,
the homo-sapien, struggles to survive.
monkeys peering in curtains made of monkeys
at shame made of monkeys on the face
of a monkey in a cage made of monkey legbones
and monkey ribs held together with a familiar sinew
(my minions are everywhere)
Simonson makes fantastic use of language and the everyday, once raw, then poetic, with lines such as
'she sheds skin cells by the sea full'
'she wets the wick with tonguetip,
touches each and every clit'
(boy meats, girl meats)
And from canyon flood:
ordered one martini too many
and flushed it with a tampon that
refused to go dark, refuted the night's
insistence on the existential...
(canyon flood)
There are some great, poetically Much of the fauna (organic and otherwise) some great Don Quixote-esque images such as in 'often they have built their own windmills' , where tentacled giants are the ( enemy; where machines threaten our creativity in 'said the machine top the poet'; where billboards fall face down:
billboards are falling
on their faces
along highway eight-one
steel-ribbed camels burying
abortion-critiquing expression
in the sorghum instead of sand
(the moral interests of october)
