Hypergunk

Gary J. Shipley’s poems are besotted missives from the orangier regions of a burnt mind. Their tetherish angularity and bestial drool make me harder than a priest in a kindergarten. The world is a void and there are no more prophets left to serve. There is still vision, however, and Shipley’s is one we might all surrender to. As Ol’ Dirty Bastard once said, “Y’all can’t use the word ‘napkin.’”– Travis Jeppesen, author of The Suiciders Gary J. Shipley has performed a limit-experience for the unafraid, for the unhampered ballsy world immutable from our big, big casket.– Sean Kilpatrick, author of Sucker June Gary J Shipley isn’t fucking around (“They’ll ask me to smile, but I won’t”), because he knows we’re all both killers and abattoir meat and in Hypergunk he’s in and inside your face about this. Hypergunk is an industrial Grendel, jaded and zombie, rising daily out of a wasted, mechanical bed, to gleet over us all, the sleeping Geats. Unrelenting, uncompromising, and endlessly surprising in its language and imagery… I’m in love with this book!– Rauan Klassnik, author of Holy Land