In his sixth poetry collection, Lance Larsen reminds us we are all travelers, bedraggled and tired but curious. Whether by train or on foot, whether exploring London or a suburban backyard or a childhood memory involving cuckoo clocks, the poet revels not in ticking off a successful arrival but in the jostlings of the journey. As Elizabeth Bishop once said: "Homemade, homemade, but aren't we all?" These poems are refreshingly improvisational: lyrical but plain spoken, always in search of what will suffice. As a collection, they might be thought of as a personal Wunderkammer, a metaphoric cabinet in which to gather the wonders that make up the funky holiness of everyday life.
