Been a long time since I’ve made an announcement on here (I missed a whole ass book!), but returning to the well to let you know I’ve got a new chapbook out from Dead Mall Press. To put it briefly, the chap is about labor, race, law, war, genocide, and individual survival. I think you’re going to love it, and supporting DMP is always a great idea, since they donate half of their take to solidarity efforts.
Hope you give it a look!
So despite best intentions I haven’t kept apace with these news and also notes, though I really should have; there’s been a lot new, and more worth noting even when all seemed so static there, for a spell. But somewhere in between Black Lawrence Press liked my manuscript and now everything saved will be last is open for presale and 20% off, buttressed by the kind & arrestingly spot-on (how weird it is to be seen) words of Marie Buck, Nikki Wallschlaeger, and Douglas Kearney. In case you ever wondered why small-time poets make such noise about their presales, it’s because they are incredibly important to us & the independent presses which, for a few months before things go to print, do not have to rely on amazon & other aggregators for distribution and sales.
I’ll be doing some amount of promotion on the internet in the months to come and hope to be able to celebrate releases in March in person, if such hopes don’t prove to be woefully naïve. In the meantime, I’ll stick to hoping you continue to support my work and are as excited as I am to see the book in print.
it’s always tricky when people who don’t read poetry ask what kind of poetry you write, but “experimental” seems like a safe response that suggests something without really having to say anything, at all. it also used to feel like an honest answer.
some poets I know are still experimenters, their work like whiskers, a sensory organ probing for what they cannot see. but “experimental poetry” has mostly calcified into a genre, codified & timestamped, like how the literature of the future never made it out of the 80s.
so with a nod to Wendy Trevino, I’d like to say this is not experimental poetry. but maybe it is.