Bird turns her prescient eye on love and loss, and what emerges is like a helicopter in fog…or a bejewelled Christmas sleigh, gliding triumphantly through the contemporary aesthetic desert…this is at once an intelligent and compelling fantasy of tenderness…he­artbreaking and charged with trees…without once sacrificing the forest…Whether you are masturbating luxuriously in your parent's slee­pout…or pushing a pork roast home in a vintage pram…this is the book for you…heroically and compulsively stupid…whipping you once again into medieval sunlight. But you know, do whatever you like lol

Author Biography

'I think there's a pretty strong case which suggests Hera Lindsay Bird is like the most exciting newish poet in NZ.' -Steve Braunias 'Hi, dear, have to say how much we enjoyed, if right word, the Hate poem. Really made us think, loved the line about the ancient cannon.' -text message from Ashleigh Young's mum

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