MAMMAL ONE by Guy Zimmerman
Mammal One is a book of poetry, or else it’s a treatise on disappearing. Poet Guy Zimmerman is either a stick-to-the-task, mix-your-own double PhD, or else he’s a shaman, bard of eco unrest on a capsizing Turtle Island.
This is Los Angeles, January 2025. America’s richest fare is coming back on us like buffalo meat in a bellowing gut. We live in a world of fragmentation and redaction dodging fierce weather fronts, confronting all we thought we once knew when all we really know is that everything can change in an instant, be reneged upon in the next, taxed again in the third. And this book is a love story on a burning star, an animal hunt with a human heart.
In the poem “My Death Museum” the author teaches, “Looking is a form of love.” Come see your way through these pages. Tell us what you find.
Mammal One is a book of poetry, or else it’s a treatise on disappearing. Poet Guy Zimmerman is either a stick-to-the-task, mix-your-own double PhD, or else he’s a shaman, bard of eco unrest on a capsizing Turtle Island.
This is Los Angeles, January 2025. America’s richest fare is coming back on us like buffalo meat in a bellowing gut. We live in a world of fragmentation and redaction dodging fierce weather fronts, confronting all we thought we once knew when all we really know is that everything can change in an instant, be reneged upon in the next, taxed again in the third. And this book is a love story on a burning star, an animal hunt with a human heart.
In the poem “My Death Museum” the author teaches, “Looking is a form of love.” Come see your way through these pages. Tell us what you find.
Mammal One is a book of poetry, or else it’s a treatise on disappearing. Poet Guy Zimmerman is either a stick-to-the-task, mix-your-own double PhD, or else he’s a shaman, bard of eco unrest on a capsizing Turtle Island.
This is Los Angeles, January 2025. America’s richest fare is coming back on us like buffalo meat in a bellowing gut. We live in a world of fragmentation and redaction dodging fierce weather fronts, confronting all we thought we once knew when all we really know is that everything can change in an instant, be reneged upon in the next, taxed again in the third. And this book is a love story on a burning star, an animal hunt with a human heart.
In the poem “My Death Museum” the author teaches, “Looking is a form of love.” Come see your way through these pages. Tell us what you find.