New Shoes On A Dying Horse and Where.

I have been reading New Shoes on A Dead Horse by Sierra DeMulder, there is not much that impresses me about it. by that i mean makes an impression, a mark. anything. 

When I read poetry by women, as a transgender woman poetry making thing, i always think of other women poets of the same era. and how it compares. unfortunately Sierra DeMulder is generally weak. this isnt to say bad, just unremarkable, theres a few good poems in there but nothing like J Bailey Hutchinson, Franny Choi, or Kimberly Johnson. and i am having trouble placing exactly what about her work makes it seem trite?, uninspiring?, mundane?. i guess it is a lack of humbleness and the fact that reading her work feels like reading a sentence and not a poem. with Kimberly Johnson you are filled with Marian holy feeling and a deep connection to the landscape of Utah, with Hutchinson you step inside her entire life. Hutchinson's My Dad Has Sleep Apnea and Has a Gun in His Nightstand works so well because it comes after Heat Advisory and with Sierra DeMulder it doesn't feel like that.

she has poems about genius but it doesnt string together well, theres no succession of images that build off each other. Sierra DeMulder does touch on similar subject matter as Hutchinson but it lacks the same musical or sonic quality to it.

today i watched part of a video of Rebecca Mead talking about Middlemarch and that itself gave me more investment in the life of this one woman among many than New Shoes on A Dead Horse does. the lines dont break well, it's decent enough breaking and pausing but subpar, and sometimes it just doesnt make sense.

i could grow to love the collection if it was one of three books in a cabin and i was staying there for a week, but i am not in a cabin.

today i watched Azumanga Daioh and Nichijou and read haikus. i forgot to clean. 

i think Sierra DeMulder is another Andrea Gibson. 

i remember when Andrea Gibson died, thinking that i could no longer call their work trite because now it seemed purely hateful.

some poems' simplicity arises not because of aesthetical choice but because the author only knows how to speak in sentences. 

ive been reading japanese haikus.

i called þorn today.