The poem about watching a woman on TV with no arms write with her toes and spoon sugar into coffee with her toes and pour and stir the milk with her toes was creepy and fun and awful. It was awfully good, but sort of demented. Most of these poems are crammed so deep inside the poet’s head that they don’t really fall clearly on the page. A whole lot of “my thoughts move too fast…” but then the voice gets good “a new wardrobe, a second closet, has sprung up in your apartment” While preparing this review I wanted to quote a line of poetry from “-f&I” but the word didn’t exist. “A vague sense of fulfillness has just left you” I ran it through spellcheck and came up with ‘fluffiness’, ‘fullness’ and finally ‘Futileness’. But I’m a jerk sometimes. These poems are not yet fully invented, the laboratory is still making something odd; so there is more to look for from Adams in the future. (Nathaniel G. Moore)
poetry zine, by M. Adams, $2, 860 Bloor St. West Toronto, ON M6G 1M2