The stars are on the Penn, and speaking in the Penn, and outside the Penn, and are being read on the Penn. These poems fuse the global with local events through occurrences on the daily commute between Long Island and Manhattan on the 7:18 to Penn Central Station.

In the first poem a bloodthirsty hawk-chasing sparrow is introduced. In poem iv., a jewel-lover doesn’t calculate the loss of light in the mine shafts into her valuing “Something's preciousness over something else.”  The seemingly harmless sparrow becomes an analogy for how humans wreak destruction in other places through naive everyday local actions and behaviours. The poet picks up on discrepancies and demands: “Now spit out those feathers—“.

As the passengers pass commutertime passing along seascape we luminously pass through states and stages of light: see-sawing spraying light, unlovable light, insufferable light, assassinated light,  “BOMBS. JUST LIKE US, PASSING FOR LIGHT.

The chap design by ellectrique press plays with how the poet  “mined” these moving poems. Mined in the multiple sense of the word, here "mined" meaning "taking on the responsibility for."  The cover is a window looking into a train. Thereafter, each poem is framed in a window with a view out of the train. Readers become commuters unable to look out (escape through) the window without the poets words that are spread across the window glass facing, mirroring and emphasizing the encapsulated connection of "in here" with "out there," touching them. For, “at the end of poetry the poem can no longer be remote.”

This is poetry written by a mind connected with the seismic. “And I won’t ever again write simply again.”