<p>There is an arresting and profound specificity to Susannah Dickey&rsquo;s astute tragicomedy in which the sky is &lsquo;the colour of a cous cous salad&rsquo; gods rub shoulders with video game characters and everyone is enslaved to desire. Corrupting the classically male reportedly frivolous hendecasyllabic form Dickey forges a register that feels both ancient and millennial. At the centre of this work beats a star-bright pain seen through the poems&rsquo; breezy vacillations and squandered love crushed to a shimmer.</p>