Poetry. Today's language is mortal, a temporary format for perpetual urges. Fatality v. pleasuring, then what? Satirical wildfire is one way to carry on, as are fabulous predictions about late-XXIst-century historicism. PATHOLOGIES goes both ways forward, sucks it up, and shouts it down--"Don't stab me, Ra, you put stuff out there it comes back, god bless. / My shit is real you can see thru snow pants." Jack Kimball's poems have been widely praised: "I can see / feel insight at work. Very live. Beautiful combos of separation / non-separation. Refreshing line after refreshing line"--Lissa Wolsak. "What the fuck? This is so amazing!"--CA Conrad.