You Always Wished the Animals Would Leave

This is a work of seething precision. in these poems, hope is a meticulous, meditative statepeeling back the hair, that quiet, necessary artifice, / to reveal a nesting doll of impulses. in maya catherine popas eggs turn a vicious red, and a super moon a helix of histories lies threaded to both the present day and the various magics of night. these poems are smart and lush, and at the end of each of them my heart, mind, and ear argue over which was lavished with the most pleasure. i am enchanted by this book, in its thrall, its bright gravity, its terribilittraci brimhall