I go to Cait O’Kane’s A BRIEF HISTORY OF BURNING for jittery scorched poet gaze, I go to Cait O’Kane for sharp angles on alt news “lamppost surveillance”. The bloody curtains open on daily wounds and rounds, ghetto’s difficult opiod dawn, where people die and “credit is a cage”. Demons lodged in city’s ragged state of mind. I go to Cait O’Kane for the wrestle in Capitalocene, no wiggle room for angels. Yet angels stand witness. I go to Cait O’Kane for her spiritual queerdom, her rhythmic uncompromising slant, and imagination. I go to Cait O’Kane for allegiance to Burroughsian word as killer virus, and Amiri Baraka’s clarion for centuries’ overdue justice and Sean Bonney’s stride. I go to Cait O’Kane for wit, stamina and urgency, for brainy nuance inside millennial think-speak and how it transforms to resistance. I go to Cait O’Kane for how she articulates the Zeitgeist best, inner passion from from the underbelly up. I go to Cait for the wild things fleeting in and out of hyper consciousness. Poetry and performance ground this public poet in quivering screed-paeans of time and space. Give it up to Cait, pure produce of American karmic curse and promise. This first book secures the promise.