Gay Heaven Is A Dance Floor but I Can't Relax

The breakout poetry collection in a multiform, poetic conversation between queer and trans artists and writers. Like meeting under a disco ball, or listening to Arthur Russell on the Staten Island Ferry, Gay Heaven Is a Dance Floor but I Can't Relax proposes reading as a form of friendship. Conversational, inquisitive, and scrutinizing, this book goes out to anyone who has loved someone they'll never get to meet. 'Gay Heaven Is a Dance Floor but I Can't Relax gives me the same kind of excitement and imaginative heat that obsessing over the glossy photo middles of queer biographies does. These poems collectively form a watery slide between past and present, care and anxiety, form and formlessness, verb and noun. We can live large in the slippage between the relational and the overwhelmingly mysterious. It would be so easy to fall into a nostalgic hole, but charles isn't that kind of poet. Rather, we dance (or write) into the polymorphous dawn, 'the extended cut, a technology for