Poetry. Evelyn Reilly’s APOCALYPSO floats a cobbled kind of futurist voyage that moves by belief and uncovered loss to quickly deliver an overwhelming sensation (allegory) that as in Tarkovsky’s Solaris we are on this journey too and have no hope (and want none) of getting off it. Turning these pages we discover that the museum of the future is a ship and Evelyn Reilly is scribbling our fate.–Eileen Myles Who, if I cried out, would hear me amid the mechanic orders? Well, if you listen closely, faint yet clear signals are being emitted from Evelyn Reilly’s APOCALYPSO wherein fragments of information technologies now dispersed in the ether create haunting assemblages of ourselves. Fascinating!–Marjorie Welish