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What I love about Paul K. Tunis’s work is how brilliantly he melds traditional comic-book style with the experimental.

Before Modernism, most poetry told, with showing as merely a form of decoration. Either that, or poetry sought a synthesis between showing and telling where the showing told and the telling showed.

[River 2]

I have an older brain damaged brother, Peter. In 1953, a small pox vaccination failed to localize and shot up to his brain.

The poem points to something I am growing increasingly aware of: surrealism is fundamentally mimetic.


My theory of narrative is that it is arc, gesture, syntactical force the most common of which is what we call a story, but not exclusive to story.

Meta-lord of the cloud-lords of meta of!


What draws these poems together is simulation of death-states in relation to the afflatus of night and song—of rising or sinking to the occasion.

The “gate keepers” of religion and of poetry are one and the same.

[Three Poems]

Zone One is not a zombie novel.

I can never hate the Susquehanna, not if it took my last dollar, not if it made me look like a grade z version of some extra who got lost on his lunch break from a remake of "The Grapes of Wrath" and ended up standing poised against the wrong unforgiving sky.

It's all a spectacle — something not able to be understood (a young woman takes her life by walking into an oncoming speeding Amtrak train at 4:45 PM on a beautiful day).

[Be Frank, Franco]