by Emily Corwin
You know that one book that knocks the air out of your lungs? The one that teaches you all sorts of things on a craft level, & makes you grind your jaw in utter admiration & (respectful) envy because you wish you’d written it? The one that makes you determined that the next thing you write is going to be *on their level*? You know that book?
Yeah. This is THAT book.
Half of the collection are persona poems that zero in on horror movie heroines & tragic victims without judgement.
The other half are a thorough examination of body horror. Poems that make the squeaky bits of the body, things that make us squeamish — look positively glamorous & tragically, uncomfortably beautiful.
It’s inventive, using predictive text to construct poetry, or writing poetry in the syntax, in the caesura & emdashes & spacing between line breaks to tell a whole different story than the one the words are telling you.
This collection is the ultimate unreliable narrator.
This collection is uncomfortably honest.
It will not choose & it’s kinda mad you asked it to.
Fans of Tenderling won’t be disappointed. Or if you’re new to the Sensorium, welcome.
You’ll like it here.