“I don’t even know how to qualify this book, honestly. It’s both methodical and wonderfully destabilizing—perhaps destabilizing because it moves so smoothly, so carefully. Nowhere in here are there ringing skittish zinger lines, nor herky-jerky obscure lines begging for squints. No. Olson writes, toward book’s end, “You can die with a giant wad of love / Jammed up in your heart, your heart / a mine shaft stuffed full of sub-bituminous coal / no one thinks worth taking. Everyone else / can find a miner to scuttle out their veins.” Boyishly is, of course, a work of longing—as all poetry is—but the patience and fervor of this longing coupled Olson’s voracity (for voices and selves and tongues and others) mark it as one of those sleeper books, the kind with the hooks that sometimes don’t catch quick but holy hell do they catch deep.”

- Weston Cutter. Fanzine