A daring and intimate new book by the poet and memoirist Nick Flynn, "a champion of contemporary American poetry" (Newpages) . . . the take from his bank jobs, all of it will come to me, if I can just get him to draw me a map, if I can find the tree, if I can find the shovel. And the house, the mansion he grew up in, soon a lawyer will pass a key across a walnut desk, but even this lawyer will not be able to tell me where this mansion is. --from "Kafka" In My Feelings, Nick Flynn makes no claims on anyone else's. These poems inhabit a continually shifting sense of selfhood, in the attempt to contain quicksilver realms of emotional energy--from grief and panic to gratitude and understanding.
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