this week, i read rob mclennan: A halt, which is empty

Image Credit: Noah Näf via Unsplash “Listing, and in consequence. Whip-smart. Porcelain, imprints. Restless,/in what seemed. Eternity. A printed image. Transmitting, sparks,” the speaker in “[entirety, the edge of sky, scrapes]” says in rob mclennan’s collection, A halt, which is empty. Most of the poems in the collection are fragmentary. Literally, they are made up…