Poetry. Zen meant shag to the spud-shine of '35. Upon a faddle dearie, my croppy is the stanchion of a decocted scally-wag; a buzz to raise an army of razzers. Macroeconomic lemmings. Hearing a cahoot of winsome kazooists, flouncing schnoozes hooting, damn near buckled my ache in two (My Recogizance). He sees more than I. The language experiments of FINNEGAN'S WAKE and ALL THAT FALL have led Dan Farrell's stripped-down model of composition and evocation. In the gnomic, halting lines, misspoke syllables, lost vowels of LAST INSTANCE, a transactional writing hobbles to the finish line. Farrell can write through the old ice of the machine-driven no-future Mordor and the ultimate tenderness of love and age. As usual, Elton John said it first: 'Daniel, you're the star in the face of the sky' -- Kevin Killian.