Read an Excerpt
From the foreword:
"My mind is like a city of one-way streets, all leading to its center. Poems and parts of poems and parts of possible poems stampede frantically, in 'Twilight Zone' redundancy, down each street, and I live in the dust above the collision, unable, or willing, to control the bits of their shrapnel that tear through me, writing all that I can hold on to long enough to slate. I am not sure if I messed up the blueprints, or the construction or if the city was already there waiting for me ...."