This is a set of poems (each with the word “poem” in its title) unpretentiously calling the nature of poetry into question. These are small, brilliant, desperate songs, each skewed yet accurate. Foust discovers the uncanny with every turn of phrase. I might say these poems are a kind of (black) magic, but Foust says:

Fuck magic.

I throw

this Frisbee and it goes

right to you.

—Rae Armantrout