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David Thomas Roberts:

Pinelands Press
PO Box 5243, Kreole Station
Moss Point MS, 39562


Surrealist poetry that captures the defiant flavor of the American South. "Rail to ravine goes my scrubby feast/ On a rasher of hills-guts hung with/ Junk" begins one poem. It's like listening to a drunken good old boy shout out his life of hallucinatory splendor: "House of Baroque eroticism wrapped in vermilion thunder/ House of Gothic orgasm and Ozark rapture/ House of the diapason blasting planets in my girl's rosy fundament/ HOWDY HOWDY HOWDY!!!"--Thomas Willoch

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This review originally appeared in TapRoot Reviews #4,
Copyright Burning Press 1994, 1995.

Contact the editor, luigi-bob drake, at Burning Press