"Jason Ryberg's poems ought to be tackled in front of a plate of runny eggs and hashbrowns, late night in some greasy spoon diner where you can still smoke cigarettes, where truck drivers and salesmen with briefcases full of drugs and lewd secrets and the murderers from Capote's In Cold Blood all might stop to eat on the same night, under a moon "like the atomically radiant skull / of a bald and diabolical clown." His books should come pre-worn,...
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Poetry