Ashlley Morgan-Shae

Emma Lew's second verse collection, Anything the Landlord Touches, begins with one of those stanzas that could almost serve as a credo for an entire generation of atomized humanity: They speak of stridency and nothingness
and wrap up their shoulders in grey light.
I want to walk again in this miry place.
I want the fever and fret beneath, though
it's something I forget, like pain.