Tom Beckett
A Poetics A poetics of unstable alertness. A poetics of awkward silences. A poetics of unlikely encounters. A poetics of spaciness. A poetics of flaccidity. A poetics of misidentification. A poetics of one-offs. A poetics of ignored urgencies. A poetics of disarticulated shadows. A poetics of mutating colors and shapes. A poetics of damaged goods. A poetics of brute farce. A poetics of fret buzz. A poetics of fuzzy descriptions. A poetics of questionable tendencies. A poetics of listlessness. A poetics of kissing. A poetics of avoidance. A poetics of aspect blindness. A poetics of raging uncertainty. A poetics of unrealizable potential. A poetics of churn. A poetics of prompts. A poetics of de- and retuning. A poetics of ugly thoughts. A poetics of incident reports. A poetics of method making. A poetics of sometimes seeing ducks. A poetics of sometimes seeing rabbits. A poetics of intersections and road blocks. A poetics of seizures. A poetics of cramps. A poetics of procedures gone awry. A poetics less than the sum of its parts, but more than enough. A poetics determined to undermine itself. A poetics that can’t think beyond carefulness. A poetics that theorizes its usefulness. A poetics of abjection. A poetics of propositions. A poetics of separation. A poetics of objects. A poetics in quotes. A poetics of questions. A poetics of misguidedness. A poetics of perverse design. A poetics of picture theory. A poetics of diminishing returns. A poetics of production. A poetics of thought. A poetics determined to unwind. A poetics on the back end of a deal with the devil. A promiscuous poetics. A poetics of translation. A poetics of substitutions. A poetics of counting. A poetics of reversals. A poetics of frames. A poetics rehearsing assumptions. A poetics of disconnection. A poetics of fraying threads. A poetics of circumstance. A poetics of drift and departure. A freeze-frame poetics. A poetics of dread. A poetics of bread and circuses. A poetics of credible threats. A poetics of templates. An attitudinal poetics. A poetics of echoes. A poetics of breakdowns. A poetics of this is. A poetics in turnaround. A dissolving poetics. A prosthetic poetics. A poetics determined by surmise. A poetics of slippage. A poetics of residues. A poetics of being something sometimes. A poetics of limits. A poetics of poetics. A poetics of silhouettes. A playlist of poetics. This is not a poetics. A poetics of abandonment. A poetics of strange harmonies and healthy dissonance. A poetics of storage concepts. A poetics of scale. A poetics of hyperinflation. A poetics of entanglement. A poetics of cookies and other tracking technologies. A poetics of loss management. A poetics of upheaval. A poetics of climate change denial. A poetics of channel surfing. A poetics of resurfacing. A poetics of catalogues. A poetics of the present. A poetics of insincere reassurances. A poetics of indelicate adjustments. A poetics of purges and induced vomiting. A poetics of forks, knives and spoons. Sonnet All of my friends Are imaginary friends. I don’t know If they’re algorithms. I don’t know The language to describe them, If they are algorithms. I only know that They are my Imaginary friends. Sometimes they appear On screens. Sometimes they appear In dreams.Tom Beckett lives and writes in Kent, Ohio.
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