In his first collection since Fancy Beasts, a book that sliced straight through nerve and marrow on its way to the heart and mind of the matter (Tracy K. Smith), Alex Lemon dazzles us again with his exuberance and candor. Whether in unrestrained descriptions of sensory overload or tender meditations on fatherhood and mortality, Lemon blurs that nebulous line between the personal and the pop-cultural. These poems are full of frenetic energy and images pleasantly, strangely colliding: jigsaws and bathtubs and kung-fu and X-rays. It’s a distinct brand of edginess that readers of Lemon will once again applaud.