An intimate archive emptied and overwritten by a fear of words, a book of mingled fates

The poems of Our Prediction are lifted from a folder of sketchy reports recalling the strange neutrality of the ancient chorus. And this intimate archive exposes a fear of language concealed at the root of poetry, delivering a book in which doubt, shame, and dread overtake poetry’s stereotypical love affair with words, a book that crosses over into the exclusion zone of stupidity and never returns.

Breeding and scavenging without scruple or restraint, the “bare life” of these unauthorized poems invariably confuses reading and writing. Listening becomes the business of speaking, of saying we but not asking who. And in its crooked way, the crooked text may begin to sound like a campfire oath of senseless plots and garbled refrains. For the listener soon will be surrounded by an accident of voices--a cassandrian short cut--exposing the particulars of not-yet-being.