I've just read B. H. Fairchild's new collection, Usher. You'll want to read it, too. Just a couple of favorite moments:
From "Wittgenstein, Dying":
The way a sentence is a story. It is raining.
Something happens, as the case may be, to something
of a certain kind and in a certain way.
From "Bloom School":
Nothing is everywhere: doorless doorways,
dirt filled foundations, and weed-pocked
sidewalks leading to a sky that blued
the eyes of bored students stupefied
by geometry and Caesar's Latin.
And here's a bonus for those f you who haven't read it. This is the finest writing about baseball I've ever read. And, of course, it's about so much more than baseball. "Body and Soul."