Rackin’s language is rich with wordplay, double meanings and subtle cross-references that never distract us from her pure lyricism and unflinching insights.

The entries shift wildly from the domestic to the cosmic (and back again), so that the “gush of time” never lands far from the banality of “salted cashews.”

…Those moments when what we want to say diverges from what we’re supposed to, are perhaps only as awkward as those in which the two match a little too accurately for comfort.

Across the book, Mutschlecner cradles his layered world “in words that are naked,” in a coherent poetic integrity, with images that melt authentically into the folds of his ideas.

Savich’s own crisis may be characterized as one of alienation from the human, or the “human form,” though in the broad light of day. Savich dwells in an uncanny world, but all the same, one framed by and occupied with such daily objects as windows and vases.

The very privacy of these poems is charged with a sense of another’s presence. In the midst of the first poetic salvo, a long sequence stretched over short, taut lines,

These are urgent poems, made all the more urgent by the apocalyptic-feeling political landscape we’ve entered.

Kearney keeps finding new ways to collage on the level of the sonic, semantic, visual, orthographic, linguistic, grammatical, and political.