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Fragmentary games and twisting syntax animate this winky knot of anxious confusion and over-it anger. Miri Karraker’s garden path paws around with an ear to the ground to find out what it knows, unearthing only labyrinth and glitch in the places it thought it knew the best. A goldfinch can only do so much. A lonely fact can be misread. New modes of listening prevail in lieu, each corner and crossing lit anew with indignant, local hope.
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Miri Karraker lives and works in Minneapolis.