Gjør som tusenvis av andre bokelskere
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But here's the thing, I have programmed these poems to whisperyour name (yes, yours) in the middle of the night, in the same waythat a family-sized bar of white chocolate and packets of crinkle-cutchips whisper your name from the dark of the pantry when you'retrying to reduce your carbs.In a collection where things start innocently enough with an ovarian cyst, and where the poet wakes from dreams of sex in Bunnings (in the light bulb aisle if you're wondering), these poems crash land into your soup bowl leaving your fresh white dress drenched in Campbell's cream of tomato.Ali Whitelock's poems, bold and loud and heartbreaking, run bare arsed through the shit storm of this world while playing Rachmaninoff's fifth on a piano left out in the rain. They howl and they ache, they hoot and they pine, they curl up with the sea urchins, sing to the starfish, waltz with the seahorses - they sleep with the moon.
Raw and beautiful and completely devoid of pretension, Ali Whitelock's poems will speak to anyone who's ever messed up, been confused, wished they'd done things differently; to anyone who's had an affair and regretted it, who's been loved completely but was too blind to see it.
Abonner på vårt nyhetsbrev og få rabatter og inspirasjon til din neste leseopplevelse.
Ved å abonnere godtar du vår personvernerklæring.