Description

Book Synopsis
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 collection—the bees, the starlings, the dragonflies—skimming 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, naÏve fluoresce
of the insect who
is its own hello/goodbye.

Scrap Bones: Poems

    Product form

    A Paperback / softback by Collier Brown

    £19.76

    Includes FREE delivery

    RRP £21.95 – you save £2.19 (9%)

    Order before 4pm today for delivery by Wed 14 Oct 2026.

    3 in stock

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      Book details

      Publisher Texas Review Press
      Published 29 February 2024
      ISBN-13 9781680033090
      978-1680033090
      ISBN-10 1680033093

      Description

      Book Synopsis
      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 collection—the bees, the starlings, the dragonflies—skimming 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, naÏve fluoresce
      of the insect who
      is its own hello/goodbye.

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