The second space in this zine's title is no typo; and it typifies the kind of vernal end-of-alphabet/beginning-of-counting/almost-Eros micro-concern with language that it's poets seem most devoted to. It's most far-gone exemplar is Paul Collier, as in "13.": "onyx bet'n/ robing/ rush statix/ ein hook a bronze/ orange bellie flame/ fish sich hard/ I never/ non dat tame/ radice red booms"--Bob Grumman
This review originally appeared in TapRoot Reviews #2,
Contact the editor, luigi-bob drake, at Burning Press
Copyright Burning Press 1993, 1995.