Many have called Patricia Lockwood a wordsmith, but in the latest iteration of her life, she has become, quite literally, a metalsmith too. Stones, gems, metals, fossils – she forges them into bodies, faces and, with her typical irreverence, vaginas. In these poems, a robot dog discovers the Lascaux caves in France. Jane Austen shoots a perfect 147. A rock gets a girlfriend. The Pope blesses McLovin (kind of). Lockwood’s most successful work of metal- and wordsmithing yet is her blend of the Internet world with the natural one, as she slips meme references and algospeak into evocations of geological time, explorations of organic bodies, and observations of youth. Her most personal collection of poetry yet, you may find you understand yourself – and Patricia – more than you’d like to by the end.