Overview

The bomb of love detonates. Lovers fused in soul-fabric tear apart in slow-motion apocalypse. Nursery rhymes chant over heroin spoons. Monkeys chase weasels while babies' heads pop off. Miss Susie calls the doctor, the nurse, the lady with the alligator purse-Pop! goes the weasel. God is a jealous woman. The devil smells like perfume. The Holy Ghost is a ghost in the machine. The author is the car, the dog, the doll, the vampire, the sacrificial lamb, the escape goat, the television, the bathtub, the needle, the nursery rhyme, the suicide note, the love letter, the exorcism, the resurrection, the Pop! goes the weasel. This is not poetry. This is the sound of a soul being born backwards through a black hole made of childhood trauma, divine revelation, and pure uncut American despair.

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