COURTESY OF BURNSIDE REVIEW PRESS
Fur Not Light, Jeff Alessandrelli’s latest volume of poetry, is a postmodern data dump—a purge of cultural reference points (see if you can spot the nods to the Misfits, Wittgenstein, Allen Ginsburg, and the Notorious B.I.G.), phrases stuck in a loop, names of friends and lovers, and strange yet relatable desires, like wanting to know how to fold a burrito without losing its contents. It’s also a deeply funny book, with details (“His fly was artfully undone, the knuckles on his clenched fists the size of performance-enhanced peanuts”) and stretches that breeze by with set up/punchline directness.