Reading this year's haul in No Tell Motel I let out a "hell yeah" for Elizabeth Bradfield's "On Expertise". It's not the vocabulary of most science writing that signals the reader's autonomic system to hit hibernation levels, it's the depersonalization, the lack of imagination. Not a problem for Bradfield: she's got the imagination and empathy, thank goodness. Her other No Tell poems are good, but this one, I hope somebody points David Lehman and the BAP crew toward it.

(Procrastinating like a mutha...)

UPDATE: "John Ashbery Fan" and I agree about this poem of Catherine Daly's.