The poet excavates menacing subplots from within the skin of the obvious and inanimate. She equates explosions with coincidences, jaywalking through all kinds of syncronous intersections, as when ?exhaustion makes the two lovers drop everything / at the same time the crickets stopped chirping?.
A marvelling look at the cactus growth of Southern California, and the web spinning facilities of North Carolina spiders, all set to the mood of the pre-election unease. Remember when Bush was only a shrub on the horizon? The writer-director Willow Rossetti Johnson montages a fatefully oppressive atmosphere. ~rs