Spinal Wax Pipes
Laura Joy’s new book of poetry is pain-packed. That’s not an insult. It’s a statement of fact. These poems are painful but oddly compelling. For example: “nails by vladimir// pain/ drives me/ into living/ more coarse/ than nails/ by/ antique/ impalers/ steering/ wheels”. Or “i don’t like him/& that’s good/ – gives me more/ X/ to work/ & like myself./ my love becomes/ vibrant/ when my hate/ happens 1st…” This collection of poetry is cruel (I wouldn’t want to be Laura’s ex), strong and cold like an impromptu walk on a slush-rainy day in November. I’m glad Laura Joy’s writing poetry, and flicking the powerful whip of her pen, but I don’t recommend this book to anyone contemplating suicide. (EPW)
poetry zine, 1999, $5, Laura Joy Lustig, 115 Henry St, San Fran, CA, 94114 USA