The poems in Fuel pick at the weave of oil-soaked world orders to interrogate the ways capitalist death-drive seeps into our unconscious lives.
Traversing multivalent intimacies from the underworld of California’s Central Valley oil fields to the quotidian domestic and love’s painful retraction, Stockton’s poems articulate the blurry modes of extraction, fantasy, loss, gender, and labor as they interact and overlap in the shadow of environmental and personal collapse. Between gas station gifts, Venmo requests, and nocturnal love letters, Fuel unravels the self and violent systems of domination, longing for a togetherness that transcends its own ending.
I finished this book amidst the US beginning to aggressively imperialize countries for their oil and resources with family stuck in Puerto Rico, my partner abroad, and me in New York. It felt timely and human. We are drenched in our personal lives but also that of the larger world and to think one doesn’t influence the other would be foolish - Rosie captures this feeling perfectly.