This collection from Red Bird arrived to my doorstep hand numbered and delicately packaged. It was surprising for a number of reasons. Perhaps the most surprising was that it isn't on the lips of more readers who, like me, might feel as though they'd discovered a work of great merit whose author is still relatively unknown.
These poems inhabit the familiar in a way that is fresh and foreign. Streamlined, concise lines that never feel tired or forced linger and respond to one's own shattered expectations. Language poetry at its best with openings like "J motors through the halls traipsing trash flashing ass, a mouthful of motley moths eyeful of kerosene cocktail."
Or, "Begin with a simple word like a prayer so beautiful it cannot be spoken aloud..."