The Dredge Cycle

Weekending

Yes­ter­day I got the rare chance to hang with reader Ben over cof­fee, and even­tu­ally din­ner and some clas­sic Bill Hicks. Ben was around when Well­wa­ter Dredge was in its infancy, and his reac­tions to it as a full-​​​​grown book were fas­ci­nat­ing. I’ve lived in its quirks and stretches so long I’ve lost track of how the rest of the world sees it. Even my Surrealism-​​​​inclined peers think it’s a big bonkers. I think that means it’s time to put it in the world. I love…

42 in the bank, 30 in the recycle bin

There’s noth­ing like slim­ming your man­u­script to its essen­tials. It’s leaner and tougher than ever, and weigh­ing in at 42 solid-​​​​ass poems, not a one of which doesn’t set up or build on another. This part feels good. In the course of giv­ing this sucker a first sequenc­ing, I real­ized just how dark it is. I mean, yes, in terms of tone and con­tent, but also in terms of light lev­els. A truly inor­di­nate amount of this book takes place at night, or at least does…