The transcendent anti-capitalist realist poems of When Phoenix Flooded range widely, both in subject and in form, driven by a fluid process of fragmentation and transformation through which they sprawl across the page, like the urban landscape where they're set, and break apart before reforming with a new unity in a sonnet, an ode, a burning haiden. But even here, near the imperial border, as the world ends and St. Longinus walks into 7-11 with "blue tape around his bicep from giving blood" and a question for you, there's light and joy, and there's just enough time to joke about dancing on Joe Arpaio's grave, may the day soon come.
When Phoenix Flooded (Trans Women Writers Collective booklet series #16) Review
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