Howling out from the American zeitgeist comes Chris Bullard’s chapbook, Dear Leatherface. His titles alone might sate our hunger to be named: “O’Connor’s Misfit Addresses Schrödinger’s Cat” or “Robert Graves Helps Virginia Woolf Select a Few Stones from the Riverbank”. But dive on in, if you dare; Bullard has plenty to tell us about the place, and the time, we inhabit.

The shriek of your chainsaw 
is killing our weekends outside. 
We want to read the N. Y. Times beside our koi pool 
while our kids create colors for Montessori class.