My Seaborgium sings songs of loss and growth, motherhood and viscera, elements and experience, with love and relatable grace.

"I'll tell you the story," the opening poem coos, "of how / I rolled around in a mail truck full of other / people's letters, I was that happy / to be your mother." This speaker guides us into her expectant waiting, calling on insight from what she knows of her parents, what she thought she knew about her body, fables and gods. She asks all of these potential sources of wisdom to attend to her as forty weeks go by and she tries to detach...

"Elegant and raunchy, tender and brutal, musically, visually, and erotically ravishing, Greg Allendorf's work is everything I want poetry to be, and I will read this volume again and again."
--Aliki Barnstone, author of Bright Body
It's April now, complains Allendorf's speaker, and still no desperate gift of unreturned yearning.
The poems of Fair Day in An Ancient Town subvert the glorious, Romantic pastoral into a voice easy to imagine as Walt Whitman's darkly clever younger brother. The object of affection is fake-tanned and an idiot but still...

When the cutie-pie was opened, the birds began to sing, and what they sang was glittery and savage and fearless and dangerous--be careful with this book.

--Catherine Wagner, author of Nervous Device

The fanged fairy of Emily Corwin's forest-mud-stained collection asserts and sings with short rhymes and glitter-spells, and just as you've followed her into the deepest and darkest part of the woods, terrified, you're asked to run away together / and promise to never / do this heart-skipping thing / with anyone else.

Don't be surprised when you...