Two inimitable Bennett poems that, characteristically, seem raved from the mind of an amoeba with a human's viscera--or the thought of some mineral writhing toward semblance of life--or... whatever. The poems are semi-coherently scrawled, with doughnuts, bugs, a skull and other decorations--but typed translations are provided. Also included, two revealing appraisals of his poetry by Susan Smith Nash.--Bob Grumman
This review originally appeared in TapRoot Reviews #2,
Contact the editor, luigi-bob drake, at Burning Press
Copyright Burning Press 1993, 1995.