Multiverse (Milkweed Editions)

In The Wanting Way, the second book in Multiverse-a literary series written and curated by the neurodivergent-Adam Wolfond proves more than willing to "extend the choreography." In fact, his entire thrust is out and toward. Each poem moves out along its own underutilized pathway, awakening unseen dimensions for the reader like a wooded night walk suddenly lit by fireflies. And as each path elaborates itself, Wolfond's guiding hand seems always to stay held out to the reader, inviting them further into a shared and unprecedented unfolding. The Wanting Way is actually a confluence of diverse ways-rallies, paths, waves, jams, streams, desire lines-that converge wherever the dry verbiage of the talking world requires hydration. Each poem is an invitation to bathe in the play of languaging. And each poem is an invitation to a dance that's already happening, called into motion by the objects and atmospheres of a more-than-human world. Wolfond makes space for new poetics, new choreographies, and new possibilities toward forging a consensual-felt and feeling-world where we might find free disassembly and assembly together. There is a neurodivergent universe within this one, and Wolfond's poems continuously pull back the unnecessary veil between human and nature.

An intimate and kaleidoscopic entry in the Multiverse series that excavates survival, storytelling, and coming to terms with an unruly mind. In A Window That Can Neither Open nor Close, the stakes of writing are also the stakes of living. "Though I no longer wanted to die," writes Lauren Russell, "our first years together were not easy … because I also did not want to live." From this enigmatic in-between, Russell dives into multitudes: cats and questions; compulsion and devotion; narrative and diagnosis; language and loneliness; scrupulosity and stasis; suicidality and love. Resisting the neurotypical expectation to choose any one answer arising from her explorations, she invites readers to engage: a pop quiz, a twelve-sided die, an abecedarian confession, a box of mirrors, several idiosyncratic diagnostic tools, and a suite of obsidian waiting rooms. Holding binaries in suspense, Russell seamlessly unfolds and enfolds the various operations of language, moving through forms with the restless brilliance of an architect turned ethicist turned collagist turned origamist. And everything, it seems, finds some way to turn back into poetry. From psychological evaluation to clickbait, Russell transforms the world's furious search for explanations into open inquiry. "How flat is the silence in your pocket?" she asks. "Is the inside of a wish an ossuary?" "Do questions stick you to the wall of sociability?" "Did I say I am making my own bestiary?" "What kind of cascade is this?" In a book dedicated to knowing, to not-knowing, and to its readers, Russell pulls back the curtain and invites us in.

A ground-breaking collection of poems exploring disability, syntax, and rhythm from a Brooklyn-based Senegalese American writer with cerebral palsy. Latif Askia Ba-an acclaimed poet with Choreic Cerebral Palsy-honors all the things that arise from our unique choreographies. Meeting each reader with corporeal generosity, these poems create space to practice a radical reclamation of movement and the body. Together. In dialogue. In disability. At the bodega, in the examination room, on the move. "This way. My body looks like a dancing tattoo." Here, the drum of the body punctuates thought in unexpected and invigorating time signatures.These poems are percussive and syncopated, utilizing a polylingual braid of French, Spanish, Jamaican, Fulani, and Wolof, reminding the Anglophone reader: "I am not here to accommodate you." Because these poems are not so much for you as they are with you, an accompaniment rather than an accommodation, something to be rather than something to own.With startling nuance, The Choreic Period encourages us to "relinquish the things that we have. And mark the thing that we do," all to see and sing the vital "thing that we be."