I’ve read the zines on which some of the poems here appeared, so before diving into this fairly thick book I was already fully aware that this is Conchitina Cruz’s most unserious work so far. It’s a 173-page escape from the somber dictations of love that influenced her works. That’s not to say she’s no longer waxing poetic about love here. She still does, but she does so lightly. This collection is saturated with mockery and humor, with several allusions and a whole lot of personifications so as to prevent making the poems feel like viral one-liners by an edgy young adult on X (which is frequently and justifiably deadnamed as Twitter after a butthurt billionaire one day decided to replace it with a name akin to seedy porn sites). Each section shares the same format of one-sentence lines that are cut almost always without punctuations and are almost always disconnected from each other. Perhaps that is my main gripe about this book: there isn’t much variety in style, as if it’s a lengthy extension of the last lyrical sequence of the book that preceded this.