Thief in the Interior

"This gorgeous debut is a 'debut' in chronology only. . . . Need is everywhere—in the unforgiving images, in lines so delicate they seem to break apart in the hands, and in the reader who will enter these poems and never want to leave."—Adrian Matejka Phillip B. Williams investigates the dangers of desire, balancing narratives of addiction, murders, and hate crimes with passionate, uncompromising depth. Formal poems entrenched in urban landscapes crack open dialogues of racism and homophobia rampant in our culture. Multitudinous voices explore one's ability to harm and be harmed, which uniquely juxtaposes the capacity to revel in both experiences. **"Epithalamium":** A kiss. Train ride home from a late dinner, City Hall and document signing. Wasn't cold but we cuddled in an empty car, legal. Last month a couple of guys left a gay bar and were beaten with poles on the way to their car. No one called them faggot so no hate crime's documented. A beat down is what some pray for, a pulse left to count. We knew we weren't protected. We knew our rings were party favors, gold to steal the shine from. We couldn't protect us, knew the law wouldn't know how. Still, his beard across my brow, the burn of his cologne. When the train stopped, the people came on.