Did every single car on the GW Bridge really stop all at once?
Did everyone really get out, and trust the frozen water to break their fall? 

Mike Meraz might be watching it all burn, as the title of his latest poetry collection suggests, but he’s also diligently keeping track of the chaos swirling around him. The attention to imagery and sentiments combines the best qualities of observation with confession. 

If each one of Anthony Liccione’s poems could create an actual, human presence, and if you could keep all of these strange, fascinating characters in one place, the result would be something like touring an insane asylum with enough madness to bring the walls down again and again.

Women in trench coats do not ask me for favors.

And, hey,
hey, hey,
take my word for it.