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paper • 74 pages • 15.95
ISBN-13: 978-1-945588-05-1

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For the Love of Endings

Ben Purkert

How does it feel to lose your planet, your lover, yourself? Ben Purkert’s debut collection, For the Love of Endings, tests what connects us to this earth and to each other. His brilliantly crafted poems examine “the gap / between the world & how / people paint it: dark, distant, there / for the taking.” He makes us look at our disintegrating world head on and see what we’ve done to it, and what it has done to us.

“The Words I Failed To Be” from For the Love of Endings:

I’ll rip off this Coke label to reveal my love life: the ones I like
enough, the ones I adore but can’t ever close. I’m always
drawn to the frozen-food aisle: is this where I meet my new self,
shuddering inside a box of waffles? Hey, a closeout on ice cream,
maybe I’ll pile up on rocky road? I won’t mince anything:
not the breakup, not hours before, each minute snapping shut
on my wrist. I won’t dwell on what I said, only the words
I failed to be. A watermelon, a half-off watermelon, it’s over:
because I love the seeds, I spit them out.

 

 

About the Author


  • “...If human life becomes extinct on our planet, I want this book to float out into the cosmos to reach future and existing forms of intelligence—to let them know there was at least one beautiful/difficult, dark/brilliant side to us earthlings.”—Brenda Shaughnessy
  • “In his striking and inventive debut, Ben Purkert writes lyrical riffs about twenty-first century loneliness. His language is always striking sparks, alighting on both the poignant and the haunting: ‘When our minds wander, they go alone.’ In these poems consolation is in the distance, but their linguistic pleasures are skin-close. For the Love of Endings is a tremendous beginning. It marks the arrival of a singular voice.”—Eduardo C. Corral
  • “...For the Love of Endings is an arresting debut. Purkert is unembarrassed by the minor key, the mindbending yet subtle shift. A swift, funny, tender scenemaker (‘sword toothpicks in Swiss cubes’), Purkert invokes his ex, maps his mind, and in the title sequence offers a mini ars poetica....These are compact yet aerated poems, studded by the detritus of the contemporary—Coke labels, microwaves, computer screens, billboards—yet grounded in the breakable heart....This is a poetry that makes a place for the tangential, the trace, the touch, a tomorrow.”—Maureen N. McLane