It’s just not it for me… Describing a person who’s committed suicide as turning into a TIRE SWING???! and then later asking if their favorite part from whatever movie is the character DROOPING LIKE A NECKTIE?!?!? What?
And then some lines are just too contrived. For example: “When my daughter came home from school, sorrow shrill
as a recess bell”
Imagine a line like that EVERY few lines. Ugh, I don’t know, maybe it’s just not to my taste but it sounds so forced. Nothing here is subtle or nuanced.
Every poem is too preoccupied with being clever with its wordplay that it fails to be anything else—and in so being, directs so much attention to itself that it distracts the reader from the subject or the purpose of the poem. It felt like the poems were holding a mirror, engrossed with themselves.
I also think so much is told to the reader (which is a problem in its own right) out of self-indulgence.
Variance is always good, unfortunately it's not here. All the poems follow the same (storytelling, prose-like) rhythm that I hate. A few poems in and I could already see the contents of the rest of the pages like streetlights.
There is a thinness to Megan Falley's poetry. A lack of layers and depth. (And I really feel so inexplicably sad about it. All this love for poetry, and it cannot be translated. You wield language daily and still fail, continuously, to chisel the rock at the centre of it.)
Anyway, there were definitely some poems that I liked, or that were even objectively good, but overall I kind of feel like I ate too much sugar.