Often breathtaking in its erudition, at other times imbued with a forceful simplicity, tricky in its sensibility yet clearly driven by affection, this third collection from the prolific Waldrep (Disclamor) might be the best book of prose poems to appear in a long while.
...[Michael] Dickman’s book moves with careful intensity as it confidently illuminates buried, contemporary suffering: “My little sister, tied to her trundle bed, crying, forced to eat slices of orange/ she believed were her goldfish.”
Transformations—from the everyday to the wondrous and/ or haunting—are everywhere in [Wayne] Miller’s elegant second book. The poems are at once dreamlike and fervent in their will to cleave to the material world. “Sleep gives the body back its mouth,” writes Miller in one poem