Radish King, by Rebecca Loudon
‘Poems that burn.’ These poems ignite and sear with white heat. Like a fever to read them is to feel flushed, disoriented and ritually cleansed. ‘…bats flap in my cherry tree, little broken umbrellas…..My hands reek of gasoline, …smell leaking into albumen…’
-Suzanne Frischkorn
Info on Radish King here
Suzanne Frischkorn blogs here
No comments:
Post a Comment