I have in my clutch a stack of terrific freshly minted poetry books that I bought at awp. I do want to write about them at length, but in case I don't, I will just excerpt choice bits.

Linh Dinh, jam alerts: why haven't I read Linh Dinh before? I'm crazy.

"Short of all vitamins and calcium, malformed,
My mom a yawning question mark, I wasn't born
From a warmed egg, but sculpted from the surfeit
Of a bombastic masturbator, clouding a bathtub.
Raised on no milk, I sucked and suckled myself
into this laughing pretension.


Danielle Pafunda, my zorba: hot pink cover to match the hot verse of zorba's gothic and oddly beautiful adventures.

"Zorba had invited her pals the apostles. To welcome home.
The one with the quill in his back, the one with the lamp
in his throat. A pectoral. Dance. The one with the mail.
Drove the boat, waded ashore. With the ladies, dance.
In the rosy beam of venetian bone."

Johannes Goransson, a new quarantine will take my place: these poems are deeply sinster and deeply funny. there are also more pigs in here than that scene in mad max. i wanted to excerpt the glossary but I don't know how to find umlauts on my keypad.

"I keep mentioning my torso because I wish I were a
zoologist. I wish I were a surgeon. Or Darwin. Or a
ballet impressario in Paris. Ora mole in the ground.
Or a reptile collector. Or 5000 accidents. Made of
swans. Or Darwin. Or an injury. Or going home
in a wheelbarrow. Or moving into the Hotel Fuck. Or
bleeding slowly into a silver bucket. Or plundering.
Most of all I wish I were Darwin.

Or 5000 accidents."

more to come...