A tremendous terror and thrill overcame me as I read these language explosions, harmonics, and tours de force— acts torqued out of the last century and dragged, high on diction, into this one.
Even [Donald Dunbar's] worst lines are better than the best of the best being produced in reputable poetry factories from here to nowhere fast [...] So read this. This is the future of American poetry right now.
Donald glitzes up the abyss with the browsing contrary shapes of these momentary incandescences, obscenely attractive strangers keeping a soft focus on the scalpel.
Reading Donald Dunbar is like getting high with Rosie from The Jetsons while a cosmic Facebook feed scrolls by outside the window. His voice is unique among modern voices— simultaneously crisp and cloudy, like a day.