These poems hurtle through lige, wide-eyed and bewildered by what has been abandoned, by what has been lost, by what is hurtling past---"The telegram came today: I will never reach the moon." Yet, in spite of the wreckage, Little Black Daydream bristles with shards of wisdom and moments of sheer joy.<BR><BR>Nick Flynn, The Captain Asks for a Show of Hands<BR><BR>Wry, spry, entrancing and intelligent, the poems of Little Black Daydream invite us into a richly imagined future: not just post-apocalyptic, but post-everything. What a haunting, dark, and oddly comic world, where inhabitants "fashion hobo bags out of surplus Che Guevara tee-shirts / and fill them with the molars of the dead," and where "the Secretary of Consolidated Debt tells his sons each morning: / when I was your age, no independent clause." We wake from our Little Black Daydream bolstered by our imaginative sojourn in this precisely rendered world. This book is a major accomplishment.---Beth Ann Fennelly, Unmentionables<BR><BR>Little Black Daydream is a chronicle of post-capitalist America. With a precise ear for the American patois, it addresses the uncertainty of the future at the exact moment when those questions are at the forefront of our culture. The book teems with the dazzling detritus of desire, capitalism, and apocalypse---and the poems demonstrate an astonishing adeptness at pushing language to portray this strange moment in our histories, both the personal and the fantastical.---Carmen Gimenez Smith, Goodbye, Flicker