In poemw, the third finger of the left hand hits ‘w’ instead of ‘s’ and makes up a new kind of poem, the sort-of poem, the approxi-lyric, the poem that doesn’t want to claim poemness. Poemw are about daily things — graffitti, hair, sea gulls, second-hand clothes — and rarer things — dead crows, baked mice, ski accidents, Judith Butler. They’re jokes-and-not-jokes, cheeky, goofy.

Shortlisted for the BC Book Prizes’ Dorothy Livesay Poetry Prize.