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“Apocapulco shimmers with the white-hot intensity of a world with minutes to go, with a diction that lances and cauterizes the bloated lyric ego with a single, slick incision. In this breathless, thrilling work Addison dares to stare at what most poets glance aslant: ‘tonight we are in league / and will regurgitate the truth.’” – Scott Thurston
‘Apocapulco shimmers with the white-hot intensity of a world with minutes to go, with a diction that lances and cauterizes the bloated lyric ego with a single, slick incision. Whilst MacSweeney and Bukowski are given apt tribute here, these poems’ clipped cadences and tough enjambments also recall the crystalline mastery of early Wieners – swapping the flophouses of San Francisco for the favelas of Salvador da Bahia. In this breathless, thrilling work Addison dares to stare at what most poets glance aslant: ‘tonight we are in league / and will regurgitate the truth.’
’ —Scott Thurston