Natasha Dennerstein’s poetry, which she names ekphrasis (literally ‘to speak out,’) is to decoct the form of cinematic, kink, and Californian archetypes-the blonde noir vixen, the golden shower scene, the more-spiritual-than-thou hippie-into these seemly and seedy forms, swift as a snort of amphetamine.

These poems are shapely in that they literally concern the shape of things, (the Mistress’ breasts, ‘burnished, onyx cantaloupes’), while they fashion themselves as rhyme, plump with undulating accent. Trebled in these modes, ‘just for the thrill of it, baby,’ she rides us, or drives us, all along the length of California…