If all girls had mouths
like yours I'd be done for.

from the poem Elegy Scale by Gabrielle Calvocoressi

How could that pair of lines not bring a sly smile to your face?

That's what happens after I read that poem -- hell, any poem -- from Calvocoressi's collection Apocalyptic Swing. I'm either smiling at a clever phrase, reveling in her choice of words, or utterly seduced by the story the lines of verse have whispered into my ear.

This is the best, most stirring collection of poems on boxing, jazz, religion, small towns, and big cities that I've read in a long time.

Check it:

Epistle From Her Daughter
           Yet to Be Consummated Back East

Love, you'll stick your finger into
anything. Sweet cream, valve oil, the mouth

of every damn baby that gargles.
You're insatiable, and that

city will screw you within an inch
of your life. Leave before the sun goes

down, before the cars start cruising
from Sunset to the canyons

and someone writes a song that goes
something like The city is burning

as the city startles and burns.
I've got no chance in the face of all

that starlight. Those boys on the beach?
All muscle and grass and nothing

but time. Come back. Pack your cheap bag
and get your ass on that bus.

Oh yeah. More, please.