Anne Nygård Too Much Tongue by Adrienne Marie Barrios and Leigh Chadwick, Autofocus, 2022 Reviewed by Scott Neuffer I’ve never read anything like Too Much Tongue, a collaborative series of untitled prose poems by trampset contributors Adrienne Marie Barrios and Leigh Chadwick. Reading it is like finding a nest in your refrigerator, slapping yourself to wake up, then noticing how each wispy thread of the nest is throbbing, changing color. A feeling of magic emerges, concurrent

by Leigh Chadwick and Adrienne Marie Barrios Jesse Bowser “Sometimes, I Think I Can See Right Through Myself” Leigh Chadwick has a spine and she thinks that’s weird. Leigh Chadwick has a spleen and she thinks that’s weird, too. Leigh Chadwick has an orgasm and she thinks that’s good. Across the street and six states north, Adrienne Barrios stares at a wall. The wall is beige. Or maybe eggshell. She should be able to tell, but she can’t—she’s too focused on the Ritalin she too

by Adrienne Marie Barrios Gabriele Stravinskaite When I think of your name, it is a breath on my lips, a whisper, something not quite formed: Hayden. Your name is a promise I broke at least three times. Maybe I’ll break it forever. Your name is an echo from your own throat when I tell you I’ve applied my lipstick three times now, four, and it’s still not quite right. I can’t keep my hand steady. Deep breaths, darling. Your name is the way I don’t stop as I drive across the ol