considers the way that the absence of touch-in acts of war via the drone, in acts of love via the sext, in aesthetics itself-abstracts the human body, transforming it into a proxy for the real.
"What love poem / could be written when men can no longer / look up?" this book asks, always in a state of flux between doubt and belief-in wars, in gods, in fathers, in love. Through epistolary addresses to these figures of power and others, these poems attempt to make bodies concrete and dangerous, immediate and addressable, once again.