Monday, September 29, 2008

Cadaver Dogs by Rebecca Loudon



Cadaver Dogs, by Rebecca Loudon
No Tell Books, $15
Available at Lulu NOW
Available at Amazon and B&N SOON

The images in this book vibrate. “Mars hangs above you like a meat chime.” “An ovary red dress.” “Let me release the thin broth tadpole-/sticky lake from between my legs.” Cadaver Dogs gives us a fast and furious poetry of “linguistic impulse” (poet Denise Levertov’s term) fused with a poetry of visceral impulse, and rushes of hyped up innuendo. Multiple sensory cataracts pour forth on every page. Whether their mode is pensive, elegiac, sexual or all of the above, these poems embrace the undomesticated, taking as a given the fact that humans are perpetually channeling the various animals we contain. Want vividness and gusto, postmodern sensitivity, lingual rapture? Consume this book, or let it consume you.

— Amy Gerstler

Wednesday, September 17, 2008

Monday, September 15, 2008

THEY ALL SEEMED ASLEEP by Matthew Rohrer


They All Seemed Asleep
Matthew Rohrer

Octopus Books 2008
43 pages
Hand-bound, letterpressed black on pink and brown covers.
Edition of 200

$10 (includes shipping)
Buy here

Wednesday, September 3, 2008

Jared Stanley's The Outer Bay from Trafficker Press

Jared Stanley's The Outer Bay is 23 poems written in Merced, California in the SUMMER. The Outer Bay is a real estate term for Merced, realtors looking at forms of the Real. In these poems, the Real makes blisters and wrinkles. Its nature, trains that blare; its mind, a head of the town that gets kicked in. Political poems in a landscape of sensuous garage sales and actual trees. The dirty west of nostalgia, rope burns on the eyes: a mental music lush and troubling. Like water rationing, this is for the benefit of every California citizen. —Lauren Levin

Bhanu Kapil Interview with Jared Stanley

Order via PayPal from http://traffickerpress.com/ [$8]


THE INTERNET

Are they like rooms, these
tattoo machines and supplies for a mountain bike?
I never want to hear your name again, Joseph Cornell,
because what is your name.
An item of stately interest to a cockatoo
inquiring of sleep, why did I dream that?
Am I to stare down
and soar like document’s eye
glazed, a butterfly to leave behind?

Tuesday, September 2, 2008

Hit Wave, Jon Leon






















One of the greatest drugs ever manufactured is cocaine. I love the way it feels. End of story. When riding around in my Audi on the way to Vail Colorado I like to keep a vial of cocaine on the passenger seat next to my compact discs. One of the worst most mesmerizing bummers is when the coke is gone. That is when you're fucked and the world ends. At a time like that do not call anyone on the phone from a Super 8 Motel. Bring the joy into America. Love the market that is second only to diamonds.

Order now at the Kitchen Press Book Store.