Poetry. As a poet and a musician, New York resident Drew Gardner is admirably obsessed with "the phrase." Separating each line in SUGAR PILL with regular units of blank space, Gardner's first book turns every line into a stanza unto itself, clearly intent upon establishing a rhythm and sequencing wholly unique to itself. Outside of its fascinating form, this collection intimately examines the consequences of the scientific and corporate leviathan, and its eerie moral order: "aren't you supposed to be out killing things?//like lemmings running up a cliff//missile silos implode in North Dakota//copping the absence."
Scholars of the future will wonder at the leap from Sugar Pill to Petroleum Hat, but the glare of the latter shouldn't dim the pleasures of these 12 witty, deeply observed snapshots of a mind interacting with the whacked topography of urban modernity: "ingest splendor/see energy."