Language, not geography, is where we live, says the insomniac poet at 4:00 A.M., flipping through all the different stations---grand opera, pop, and punk rock---on his radio. In the listening area that is this first collection of poems, Donald Platt tunes in the dissonances of his own and others' lives. Whatever their occasions, stopping at a roadside fruit stand in Georgia, a retarded brother learning to speak, childhood on a Midwestern farm,...
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