i bought the new dennis lee today, and it amazes me.

he writes at the edges of langauge, using it as a way to move past the ego, into something muckier.
i have been reading too much gunn,olds,clifton,auden-poets who write narrative, who only love langauge to tell a story,
lee taught me how to love words as a child, and now in this collection he has taught me again.

their are only 61 poems here, most caught in the middle of a barren page,
clunks and anchors, rarely verses or stanzas.
but oh so tender.

listen:

in wreck, in death, in neck song
godnexus gone to the fat of the land

or

i want verbs of slagscape thrombosis

or

Scribblescripts portent unfurl...

or

starlight star-
bright star
kucked and cacked , riddled and racked...

or

That the names will end, that the
naming will end, that
the undis-
claimable forerducts of is will
resume their
eddies of post and pre

or

Tagalong snatches,
algorythymic
hums.

or the folktronic, and almost conventional

Clone pastoral
Data made Fleece

or the sacred and holy:

What hank, what hanker,
what heirloom?
what telltock prayer? what plea ?

or this use of common tongue

Innerly,underly: empty
outerly:party on.

of course these are not whole poems, but most of them are only a few words longer.
i am drunk on language and feel ashamed that my own vocab is so low and conventional.

fuck you, i love you
mr lee.