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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