Her Soft Fingers Pickpocket My Brain

<p>Hollins' poems are exquisite snapshots of love loss childhood uncurled ferns and pohutukawa trees. They are at once chilling yet humorous familiar yet absurd. They evoke an afternoon at a beachside cafe: the patrons like his poems seem to have been gathered from every corner of the earth yet they feel comfortingly familiar like the voice of an old friend. </p>