Review
Readers are best advised to get the hang of Dakron's predatory prose before it gets the hang of them. --Reflex Magazine, January/February 1992, William Elston
[Newt] manages to create a sort of exclusive, four-dimensional time warp where past, present, and future meld in a drug-fear-creativity induced dream time . . . All in all, a fine effort. --Upstream Magazine, Winter 1992, Douglas Brick
Obviously Dakron knows what he is doing . . . I commend Black Heron for having the audacity to publish it. --American Book Review, June-July 1993, Volume 15, Number 2, John Jacob
Newt is daringly and relentlessly opposed to plain language. --The Stranger, October 18-24, 1994, Doug Nufer
"...the results are challenging, aggravating and hypnotically resonant." --
The Seattle Weekly"Dakron writes in an impressionistic, darting style...hard, almost desperate, topics - incest, racism, psychic wounds - go by in a rush.." --
The Small Press Book Review
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
You'll laugh, you'll weep, you'll fall asleep. Uh huh. Typical. Newt backs into nude spray. It's the swimming pool shower, heat molds him wet. Steam bones his shoulders and he blinks drops. Other dudes soap or think or neither. There's lots of fat guys. And tiles squeak moist feet. A kid scrunches eyelids and gawks at Newt's weenie. Newt once lost a Mets cap. Later he blew up toy army men with M-80s. He tugs into surfer trunks and shakes his curls. Water ivies down his mint neck. He licks drops off his young smile. You will never be that calm.
Newt hums past guys, they fool with towels or cheap shampoo. Where a door mates aqua space it's the pool. It's still indoors. Newt lungs tingly chlorine musks. A lifeguard scopes him to make sure he showered. Newt stands lithe as sky. He scans swimmers. Where arms slice antiseptic waves. Where toes churn past striped ropes. Muscles bathe his citron eyes. Limbs sculpt his mind. This is not fate or a story. It's about Alysha who meets Newt, he's a sculptor.