Iggy Horse

Craig (Woods and Clouds Interchangeable) combines absurdity, thoughtful engagement with language, and linguistic play in his humorous latest. Artfully constructed poems show how a mind moves through associations, allowing the reader to observe the path of neurons firing from connection to connection: “I extend one foot out/ from under the covers./ The cover of night./ The album’s cover./ The barbecue’s, its/ rustic joie de vivre in/ waxed cotton duck.” The levity throughout encourages the reader to follow the oddly logical thought process behind them, as in “Pep Talk to Self Eating Salad at Airport”: “Montana is the Italy of the New World./ Montana is God’s Italy./ Montana is the Italy of the people./ It’s the real Italy./ Italy is Montana./ Montana, the Italy of God./ Yes./ Like Italy only different.” There is a critical eye at work in these pages; the poem “Underfoot” begins with an image that hauntingly captures a sense of collapse: “The forest floor feels almost spongy with twigs/ made from decomposing pianos.” Other poems betray a philosophical suspicion toward language, as when the speaker witnesses a flock of birds “flutter up like sacred/ soap-flake eunuch moths” and reflects on “the gaudiness of poetry.” These pages deliver a winning combination of uncanny discernment and irreverence. (Apr.)