Daniel Poppick, Vox Squad
An awkward box-set on a
neighborhood parole. D-Pop’s bratpack of sonnets beat around the block. He wrings
tercets and quatrains from diary
rain – wet refrains wax and swan. The backgrounds, layered and strolling,
stringed trinkets, jangling paint. Say hey there’s a rainbow rock n’ roll van.
So the cops are confounded and the colors are wrong. Royal pain – sine qua
non.
Thea Brown, We Are Fantastic
Fast blinking ants. Pep
for spectral critters prone to fretting episodes. I can’t but feel my fillings
riddled w/ her pretty brilliant threats. The philosopher-poet’s killer metal detector.
Everything pings. See me, in a perfect meadow of hotel bedding, wired for the
worst. All signs pointing, poignant, lightning.
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