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amymapsmith's review
4.0
It's easy to forget what it felt like to be a child. Memories have a way of being compacted and shoved into corners, and we may not always feel like unpacking them, let alone pouring water on them and watching them expand like those little dinosaur sponges squeezed into pills. But Matthew Dickman does just that, and it's a good reminder that those memories, if they're still there (and if we want to find them), can teach us things. That our tinier selves were dropping breadcrumbs, and that the place where the breadcrumbs began is now a different version of itself, so what better way than poetry to find it again?
acreese's review
2.0
Another accomplished collection full of clever turns, but it not resonate with me. The overuse of anaphora seemed an easy device to herd together non sequiturs and pass it off as innovative and ultra modern. Yawn!
debshelf's review
3.0
3.5 stars
I didn't connect as strongly to this one as I did to Mayakovsky's Revolver, but there is a visceral aspect to some of the narrative poems that got to me.
I didn't connect as strongly to this one as I did to Mayakovsky's Revolver, but there is a visceral aspect to some of the narrative poems that got to me.
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