Robert Frost once said that poetry is a way of taking life by the throat. The abrupt, vivid violence of this metaphor is integral to the work of Arda Collins, albeit with just a touch more mystery. Collin’s poetry is a way of taking life by the throat, nearly strangling it, then letting go before embracing it tenderly, stealing its coat, leaving it gasping for breath on a suburban street corner just as the day turns to night.
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