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Collier Brown's Scrap Bones reads like a post-pandemic epilogue to T.S. Eliot's ';The Waste Land.' No angels or flying horses here, just panic disorders, email fatigue, and the spiritual dead end of a 23-and-Me test kit. And yet, resilient are the muses in this collectionthe bees, the starlings, the dragonfliesskimming over the wastes.The Sabine Series in Literature ...from ';Orion, Break' they're sleeping in their homes, they're waking from their beds, they're at their desks and on a call. They're unimpressed. That's not your fault. Nor your concern. I'm tired of images, of lines and dots and codes. When I step into the dark, I only want the novas and the nowheres in between, and if I'm very lucky if I've beaten all the odds just one, nave fluoresce of the insect who is its own hello/goodbye.
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