Charlotte Geater's poems for my FBI agent takes us down a Lynchian rabbit hole in which a sad and shadowy agent follows the poet's every move. This book's true surrealism lies in the fidelity with which it depicts how we now live-in a world where we are each the warm applause at the end of our own nightly show, and the rabid dogs ever-ready to devour one of our own. These poems are propelled forward by a pulsing investigative energy and filmic story arc.