The poems in Glass Is Really a Liquid define particular moments of our lives and identities with original, uncanny precision (“the picnic part of you”; “you like it all, wish to travel / With the smoke of the blown candles wishing // This fabulous birthday wasn’t someone else’s last”). And they capture the absurdities of our reality, well, absurdly: “Breezes the train I can reach I can clip the hedge quickly, the / one with whom we are timorous & chafing tuff tonight. Which / one’s art’s? The circle at the end of the lap.”).
Read entire review by Sima Rabinowitz here
Glass Is Really a Liquid by Bruce Covey
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