“If a girl, a virus, a horned animal, milkweed, an exchange of cash for dirty looks, the near-rhyme of greed to death, the names of all brutes, and a shroud in which was wrapped the erect ascendant all met in an ovum and, lodged deep in the earth’s core, fused into a supernova. If, from that long ago time until this very moment—perhaps even into the future—that supernova were listening in on us, her grave canal located such that she were overexposed to US American politicovangelizing, all at once began to speak: this is what she says.” –Danielle Pafunda
“Dylan Krieger is an expert assassin with the messianic fervor of a deconstructed goth-girl, a rogue priestess exorcising and excoriating our tricked-out ‘apocalypse fetish,’ dealing out death-blows ‘quid pro blow.’ These poems are erratic/erotic receivers channeling bad transmissions from our ‘edenic pandemic’—the media clusterfuck, body-as-clickbait, that gaslights women into being their own terror portals. Here unfettered receivership, masochism, and degradation are served as the ultimate limit experience, the euphoria of the self-detonating female body that ejects its own organs so that the whole Christ-addled misfire that is our masculinist moral world ‘might splat.’” —Lara Glenum
“‘… a part of me is always eating part of you…’ This word-drunk, ‘son-drunk’ book of ecstatic technology doesn’t just profane the sacred but also – the much less common – sacralizes the profane, the grotesque, the body in all of its troubling, intoxicating, ruinous splendor. These highly skilled, outrageous poems move at a breakneck speed.” —Johannes Göransson
“Heady sound-based unabashed blasphemy. Kick in the dick, pathogenic poetry sure to infect society with exactly the offense it needs.” —Vincent Cellucci
Giving Godhead is 82 pages. Delete Press, 2017.
An early version of Giving Godhead was selected to win LSU's Robert Penn Warren Award for best poetry thesis.
forthcoming from Saint Julian Press, dreamland trash (66 pp.) is a book of poems centered on the stigmatized and/or criminalized margins of American society—particularly drug culture, queer culture, hookup culture, internet culture, conspiracy theories, mental illness, and the anxieties that accompany our conscious complicity in impending self-extinction. The method of its composition is largely collage, drawing snippets of text from overheard bar chatter, hallucinogenic rants, alien abduction documentaries, government documents, and YouTube’s often nonsensical automatic captioning software. As a result, the book ultimately presents a fractured post-apocalyptic vision of American culture that prioritizes substances and resources over human ties and still willfully and woefully denies the inevitable consequences of climate change even under the ominous skies of an increasingly shadowy military-industrial complex.
no ledge left to love (65 pp.) is a full-length prose poetry project that reimagines and challenges the frameworks of Western philosophical thought experiments, especially with respect to gender, moral certitude, and diachronic identity. Each poem focuses on a different thought experiment in analytical philosophy, from Plato’s allegory of the cave to Nagel’s spider in a urinal. Recognizing that Western philosophy—like all academic disciplines—has been largely dominated by wealthy cis straight white men, no ledge attempts to dismantle the reductive binaries and disembodied logic of the analytical philosophical vernacular, emphasizing instead the rich physicality and potent mutability of the bodies required to convey its lofty ideas.
Re:ACTION! (90 pp.) catalogs and satirizes the action-packed scenes we have watched evolve into a sort of American mythology of violence between the forces of good and evil. In these lyrical and narrative poems written collaboratively with Vincent Cellucci, we approach the well-worn subjects as general scenarios rather than trivializing them by name-dropping individual films. Titles include "briefcase full o' $$$," “firing gun at nothing while screaming,” "bomb countdown," "lone witness' incomprehensible last words," "torch the place & watch it burn," and "hanging from cliff // stepping on fingertips", and “human shield.” We think these tropes are very symptomatic of our escapist and violence-saturated culture. Contemporary social issues present in the manuscript include our national preoccupation with war and addiction, xenophobic villainizing of the "other," the presence of a police state, sexualized depictions of physical domination, and the persistence of reductive gender stereotypes in Hollywood blockbusters.
We believe this text will have a broader market base than other poetry publications since it appeals to pop cultural studies and film lovers everywhere. We are looking for a press to actively support this project and help us reach a wide audience.
the mother wart (70 pp.) is a book of prose poems loosely based around the tenets of the Church of Euthanasia, whose only commandment--for both ethical and practical reasons--is "thou shalt not breed." Looking beyond the movement's environmental and social goals, the mother wart delves into an autobiographical meditation on early memories and associations with motherhood, childbirth, infancy, and female sexuality, emphasizing the importance of early childhood trauma in the decision to abstain from having children of one's own. In its thick fog of sound play, close-set cycles of internal rhyme evoke a nursery rhyme starting to spin off-kilter, a grade-school chant turned violent and unpredictable. This is the version of the fairy tale in which the witch wins. But here, the witch is also mother, the origins of life transformed into a sign of virus (the wart). The grotesque, therefore, figures heavily throughout these poems, especially in the sense of Mary Russo's The Female Grotesque, which points out the pregnant female body constitutes the epitome of the human form as a site of volatile and irrepressible change--traversing that rare region between revulsion and attraction, in which the two at last appear not so opposed after all, but rather the respective poles of a dividing line that in fact comes full circle if followed far and fearlessly enough.