A review of Tom Lux's Selected Poems (Bloodaxe) in The Guardian a few days ago.
And a poem of my own in the Times Literary Supplement of January 9th:
The orchards of the internet have rooms
for my virtual museums, and portals
to fancies I suppress—Roman revels
enhanced with sound effects, like my neighbour
this noon in his condo, earthquake water
stacked prudently on his porch,
a redwood to shade our double windows.
Sounds like he’s surfed a porno flick. Her yelps
ring out in waves like ripples a pebble
makes, plopped into water. And here’s the jug
she’ll sluice her back with in a second
or a century: longing’s embodiment
as I polish off my chicken breast, chased
with last night’s wine, my foraged plum.