i've reviewed two books for the forthcoming issue of galatea resurrects. my plans were to do three, but i couldn't get one together for amy king's lovely i'm the man who loves you. so a couple of days ago on the bus to work i wrote this little poem which i post here as a kind of alternative review

(i'm the woman who loves your pen)

oh what a fountain. this is not
necessarily sexual innuendo. do
please pimp the abyss. this is not
necessarily a joke. if you untune the
guitar cool sounds may emanate from
your ears. this is your old music
teacher speaking. if you look at the
bricks & listen to the faces in them. this
is not necessarily your revolution
talking. in tongues piled high up
on each other. in rooms opening out
onto a fourth wall of rain. your pen
will receive books anonymously sent. the
hand holding your pen will be well
provided for. in dromedaries. no less
than thirty-six. or so. of them. they
are easy to fold & fit into a drawer for
sleeping. we need to inform you though
that they need to have freshly
written poems read to them about three
times a week. it works wonders for
their metabolism. after that you
should let them out into the
street for a few hours. don't worry
if they come home drunk. they
rarely beat humans. they're just
noisy & in high spirits of their
own choice