"This magnum opus confirms David Trinidad's place in the poetic firmament: he is simply the best we have. A worthy successor to James Schuyler, Trinidad writes soulfully and sometimes photorealistically about the melancholy threshold where dolls and stars become inner objects—dirty, glamorous, destructible. Jacqueline Susann meets Sei Shonagon? Trinidad manages to combine neo-formalist abstraction with dripping gorgeous figuration: Bonnard's wet dream."—Wayne...
