by Kevin Connolly
Bloom says it’s about erasing others,
digesting them, spitting them out as you.
Really it’s more about smothering yourself,
your shaky lines, knowing in advance
they’re unworthy of the next bloom,
next fool in line — to think there really are
people who think about this, All The Time.
Think about that. How small, how human,
how fraught with hatred for your best part:
one who woke this morning passably happy,
wasp that hadn’t committed its stinger just yet,
thinks of its small footsteps as having less-than-
giant echoes. As if echoes could substitute for
any company—this or the worst, anytime.
The highly anticipated follow-up to the award-winning poetry collection drift, Kevin Connolly‘s Revolver is a daring marriage of brilliant technical skill and explosive imagination. Each of the poems in this extraordinary collection is written in a different vocal register — revolving through poetic voices with precise control and sharp wit. Connolly reveals himself to be one of the few poets in Canada who can pull off such a high wire act, and make it both thrilling and meaningful.