

“to those who fell…and those who are still falling.”
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Noam Hessler loves words. This is the most generic thing one can say about a poet, even the definition of a poet, but once you get to the second poem in Officeparks, their debut book, and see/hear/read “fattoothed,” “Uppwards,” “Darkawful,” “Fatwet,” it is delightfully apparent that Noam Hessler loves words, especially aspirated consonants.
A wide range of artists from a variety of disciplines deliver sinister incantations.
The Tyrant Queen of Iron City presents us with a bouquet of petty grievances.
The freaked-out, bored, alienated observations of the Beautiful Boy looking out on his suburban purgatory.
An imminently depressing, short, contemplative piece of empty, alien-world-wandering SF.
An attempt to locate a distinctly feminine “non-tyranical monstrosity” in Ted K’s life and work