Child Made Of Sand

Readers familiar with Thomas Luxs quick-witted images (&quote;Language without simile is like a lung/ without air&quote;) and his rambunctious, Cirque-Du-Soleil-like imagination (&quote;The Under-Appreciated Pontooniers&quote;) will find in his new collection, Child Made of Sand, not only the signature funny, provocative, and poignant super-surrealism that has made him, along with Charles Simic, James Tate, and Dean Young, one of Americas most inventive and humane poets, but they will also find in a surprising series of homages, elegies, rants, and autobiographical poems a new register of language in which time and mortality echo and reverberate in quieter notes. In &quote;West Shining Tree,&quote; we can hear this shift in register when he asks: &quote;Ill head dead West and ask of all I see:/ Which is the way, the long or the short way,/ to the West Shining Tree?&quote;