by Levi Rubeck
Hand-bound, Die-cut Chapbook / $10
Levi Rubeck’s poems teem with tiny surrealisms, utterances that appear with the calm of logic and the twang of dream: “Rabies is the fairy godmother of my friendly ghost,” he writes, and “the parasite of my parasite is my friend.” The three long poems in Lunar Flare make a particularly 21st-century, self-interrogatory weave of image and diction that is Western and deliciously, embarrassingly suburban: “I’m better with a grand slam breakfast in me.” The texture of this weave is rough with Rubeck’s singular wit –”Headstones are teeth in the gums of North Dakota” – and with lines that could have walked straight out of an after-hours bar in a one-horse Prairie village: “I know a lunatic who walked towards doubt.”
Levi Rubeck is a poet and critic from Wyoming, though his day job is at the MIT Press in Cambridge, MA. His poems have appeared in No, Dear, Maggy, Window Cat Press, Wreck Park, Analog, and elsewhere. He was an editor at NYU’s Washington Square Review, is a co-editor at the online journal Paperbag, and writes on games for Kill Screen. More info can be found at dangerhazzard.com.