Multicolored clouds converging--pyrotechnic arrows slamming into the chest--an apology that no one hears--Christian Patterson has crafted a strange kind of light orb that feels totally, 100% extraterrestrial. His poems oscillate between ego and id and disembodied bedroom and Taco Bell, and the whole time, it's like he's not even paying attention. He could be blindfolded. What an honor to be alive with these poems.
-Luis Neer, author of Extinction
Patterson's book comes from a world in which Berenstain Bears is spelled like Berenstein Bears and young people on drugs fear the sound of Beach House. A map would depict an alternate version of pre-pangea in which Seattle and Seoul are nearly touching and there are 7-11s and Taco Bells on every block. In every parking lot, there is a blond girl experiencing a fresh sense loss.
-Shy Watson, author of Away Status