A single narrative poem from somewhere in suburbia; an everyday guy looks out on the world and just tries to keep up, what with things getting blown up and no sense of proportion. No chance of making sense of it, just trying not to fall too far behind. The melting pot is a batch of gumbo, burned on the bottom, and needs more than a little salt to fix it.--luigi
This review originally appeared in TapRoot Reviews #1,
Contact the editor, luigi-bob drake, at Burning Press
Copyright Burning Press 1993, 1996.