“Book Descriptions: “There were other stories, but they aren’t right,” Andrew Weatherhead writes in Fudge, a collection of minimalist long poems that find holy the tedium and calamity that shapes our lives. Wandering around a hollowed city, looking for a lost feeling like a key that will unlock the secret of self, only to be put on hold while a coup unfolds on television—these poems make the strangeness of life feel valid, in all of its violent contradiction.
ADVANCE PRAISE “Uncannily potent for how restrained. My favorite working poet.” —Sean Thor Conroe, author of Fuccboi
“Here are poems of dailiness, poems as dalliance, poems to remind you of the ways you’re waiting without claiming to be or even know that thing you’re waiting for. They’re perfect.” —Kyle Beachy, author of The Most Fun Thing
“Deft and giddy. Like light through a prism, Fudge renders life in splintering color. I wish I had a pair of glasses that outlines the details that Andrew Weatherhead sees.” —Nicolette Polek, author of Imaginary Museums
“Hey, what is attention? In Andrew Weatherhead’s work, attention blows the whistle on its own habit of gerrymandering what does and doesn’t escape notice. Attention might be able to attend to its own absence, might see its own shadow, and a lot of unreclaimed human truth blunders through in moments of distraction, boredom, clumsiness of mind. The poor customer service might actually be coming from inside the house! And for me, “Last Poem” might as well be everyone’s. Give it (this terse, funny, stupid, stupid-brilliant work) a go!” —Jon Woodward, author of Uncanny Valley, Rain, and Mister Goodbye Easter Island” DRIVE
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