In Where We're Going, We Don't Need Roads, aliens and time machines, Lambrusco and apocalyptic first kisses, broken relationships and breast-shaped mountains are perfect companions for a delicate dance through Hill Valley, Wagamama and potato fields in Nepal. The language, open-hearted and burlesque, is lifted from hypnotherapy podcasts, ad agency jargon, the fine distillate of the worst things we think about ourselves. These are poems alive with tingling histamines and humming generators. They slip between lines of conversation, sneak into your bedroom at night, haunt your dreams.
In Where We're Going, We Don't Need Roads, aliens and time machines, Lambrusco and apocalyptic first kisses, broken relationships and breast-shaped mo...
A lyrical excavation of trauma and healing in the midst of early motherhood - the debut work of an endlessly inventive poet whose work 'fizzes with energy, physicality, and the levitating openness of song' (Rebecca Tamás) 'An essential read, poignant, powerful and provocative. I love the feeling in Amy Acre's poems' Salena Godden Amy Acre’s debut collection is an unforgettable, unflinching excavation of motherhood, what it means to be a female artist, and what it means to be a poet with a deeply integrated community. This is a timeless work the like of which we haven’t seen enough of...
A lyrical excavation of trauma and healing in the midst of early motherhood - the debut work of an endlessly inventive poet whose work 'fizzes with en...
