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.