Sara Deniz Akant's Hyperphantasia explodes the sonnet's sonic and imaginative capabilities via infestation dreams, open tabs, and other disruptive forms of longing and (dis)belonging: the epistolary, epic, ballad, or just "some oracle shit" (history). Phanta--our AI BFF, echoing troll, or spiritual center--sweetly sings a "nekromantic soundtrack" into the reader's ear through the "holographic non-place" of dove-robots, sleeping boyfriends, murderous grooms, and empty code. In these broken songs, "the women haunt themselves" through the quotidian trappings of daily routine: unanswered letters, dreamscapes, and ritualized obsessions. And yet, Akant's celebratory second collection refuses to make precious bores of gender, grief, lust, or life. Just like the eponymous hero and prismatic villain of Phanta herself, the trash in these poems not only "sucks our hunger dry" but also "multiplies" in an attempt to reclaim the (often damning) myths that surround the culturally mixed, feminized body.