“’Picture me / A field’s eruption / Collared to the city limits / Stomach knoll /

“’Picture me / A field’s eruption / Collared to the city limits / Stomach knoll / Sidewalk cracks / & advancing subsidence / Aberrant growth.’ The foundation of In the House We Built is comprised of lawless ground and whetstone-sharp observations. In her latest book, Prairie M. Faul envisions herself as a building, an assemblage, a network—a life-form. A form-giver living it up in a contorting “home;” a word that sometimes takes at least four seconds to pronounce. Faul’s speaker is coffee-fueled and many limbed; breaking down walls and shattering language—all in an attempt to invent a new one. Stone-hard yet extremely playful, Faul is the exorbitant solo show no gallery space can contain. In fact, space itself is what’s up for debate. Authority, expertise, aesthetic purity. Fuck all that and Adam’s rib. This poet isn’t interested in purity, but pority.”

-from my review of prairie m. faul’s In the House We Built