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Title: Wordbound.
Review: Poetry is the ultimate headrush. It's an unscheduled eclipse, unexpected lightning from a clear blue sky, a storm that engages senses and emotions. It's orgasmic. Collins' work is about nothing in particular. It's not poetry. Further, it eradicates the necessary line between poetry and prose. It's wordbound. There is no room left for that remarkable tango between mind and emotion that dances us away from politics and Wall Street and into the soul of our humanity. There is no space here. Collins constructs a prison of words. It is heresy to compare this man to Frost, as I understand some reviewers are doing.
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