Monday, January 16, 2012


fuckscapes by Sean Kilpatrick
100 pgs. /// Dec. 2011 /// $12 ///
“The violent, sexual zone of television and entertainment is made to saturate that safe-haven, the American Family. The result is a zone of violent ambience, a ‘fuckscape’: where every object or word can be made to do horrific acts. As when torturers use banal objects on its victims, it is the most banal objects that become the most horrific (and hilarious) in Sean Kilpatrick’s brilliant first book.” – Johannes Goransson, author of A New Quarantine Will Take My Place
“Pregnancy dream of poetry has this Sean Kilpatrick book by the fist. You learn to signal to others from the woken state, here, line-by-line. Do you have any extra money? Buy this book! If you have to skip lunch, buy THIS BOOK! “I held my breath so hard I ended up in the country.” Some poetry you read is forgotten, and never remembered. Some poetry, this poetry, Sean Kilpatrick’s poetry, is a manual for exciting the engine to throw you out of the vanquished pleasures. Here is your I.V. drip of sphinx’s blood.” – CAConrad, author of The Book of Frank
motherfucker my stains dance
in trumpet cast clouds
by faint progression like torn
skin off money
physicians break my caravan
to crave a scalp this
bitch I doggy paddle the stars
in jars of petty absence
where love most is I slapped
a straight jacket on and got fancy
in the cunt of evenings gone
overture of pockets now
swiping my balls on god

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